


take it to the grave

by writemmeline



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: (not graphic), Alternate Universe, Angst, Anxiety Disorder, Existential Angst, Family, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death, Police Officer Kuroo, Slow Burn, different ages than in manga, pilot bokuto, repost (kind of), swimmer Akaashi, waiter kenma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 15:14:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 31,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29155674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writemmeline/pseuds/writemmeline
Summary: "I don't think you'll be able to help me," Bokuto said, his heels lifted slightly off the hot sand as he crouched down. The tide pulled forward and brushed across his toes, white foam slinking over the yellow grains. "Not if I still haven't managed to get in the water."Akaashi shrugged, the waves breaking against his feet as he stepped in further. His eyes were darker than the ocean, glinting in the sweltering sun above them. "I never thought I could."And it was an honest answer, one Bokuto could tell he meant wholeheartedly. No one could help him, not unless he wanted it.And, looking then at the beads of water that dripped from the boy’s inky hair, Bokuto thought maybe the ocean wasn't so bad, if only because it reminded him of Akaashi.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 39
Kudos: 30





	1. keiji

**Author's Note:**

> hi ! 
> 
> this is my first fanfic in a while, and my first with haikyuu characters, but not my first ever... i hope you like it because i do!
> 
> it's not beta read, but i go through and reread everything before i post so it shouldn't be too funky.
> 
> hope you enjoy, thank you for giving this a read :)

There was a grave in the forest behind his house.

Its wire fencing came just up to the round curve of his calves, sunken and collapsed from the weight of time. The small marker was yellowed with age, its post slanted to the side until the sharp corner of the placard brushed across the ground. The leaves that scattered beneath the grave marker nearly hid its dilapidated form from sight.

He’d never gotten close enough to read the sun-bleached and faded words printed over the surface, instead sitting on the leaf-pillowed forest floor a few feet away, his fingers buried in the moist dirt until it caked his nails in black.

When he’d first discovered the grave, the rusty taste of exertion and freedom sitting thick on his tongue, he’d given a name to the stranger, speaking his thoughts loudly into the empty trees, eager for the company there. The fence had come up to his knees then, his eyes still wide with a youthful excitement as they glimmered in the high sun.

He’d returned home with muddied skin and snagged clothes, his bare arms burning white and red from the harsh scrape of tree bark. His mother had scolded him then in low tones and harsh grips, hissing _Keiji, you’re not to go off alone_ and scrubbing soap across his face until he glowed pink. The suds sat bitter in his mouth, burning his throat raw.

Akaashi didn’t name the grave’s owner anymore. He still slipped from home to speak to the faceless stranger, albeit in tentative whispers, and rip weeds from the ground surrounding him, but he remained unnamed and unfamiliar. Dirt still burrowed beneath his nails, sitting in the cracks of his dry skin like the shadows that loomed over the forest floor.

Sweat beaded at his temple under the sweltering sun, the humid air stifling his breaths until they came in shallow gasps. He clasped his hands over the grass-stained fabric of his jeans, letting his fingers tap a slow rhythm on the joints there.

He tilted his head back, watching the tufts of leaves bristling in the soft breeze, the kiss of its chill a soft relief against his skin. It left him feeling hotter, his skin stickied with sweat until he felt he’d keel over and suffocate. The forest was silent, the scraping of tree branches the only whisper that filled the air.

In the years past there had been cicadas to fill the deafening silence, the drone of their song a dirge to fill the late summer heat, humidity buzzing in the air alongside them. It was quiet then, the memory of their hum residing in the forgotten shells he’d uncovered below piles of leaves.

He rolled one between his fingertips, the thin exoskeleton crinkling lightly against the pads of his index and thumb.

It should have been him in that grave.

The scars that burned his arms were evidence enough, puckered pink skin sitting across him like the tangible shadows of memories that he still didn’t quite understand, still couldn’t quite remember.

It should have been him in that grave, it should have been his carcass rolled between the fingertips of a ten year-old boy, but instead the doctors had gotten his heart beating again, his skin stitched back together.

Instead, he sat in the heat of summer, his fingers strumming across the rough, raised skin.

Akaashi let his gaze slip over the sky, the summer day bleaching it to a dreary blue. His parents had been gone for a few weeks, the house quiet in the still afternoon, and he had slipped out to the grave just before lunch, the sandwich wrapped in plastic sitting heavy against his thigh.

Akaashi lived in a small coastal city in Miyagi, the only grocery store a simple thirty minutes walk from home. The smell of the sea permeated every crack in the old, slanted buildings, but it was intermingled with the woody scent of the forest there, earth and salt stinging his nostrils. The town seemed to lean away from the sea, the buildings pushed away from the constant blow of sea brine and storms, wind spells and bursts of ocean spray weighing against the foundations until they seemed to nearly topple over. Paint peeled off the walls lining the sea, the wood warped with the constant influx of rain. Everything metal was covered in a thick rust.

He’d skinned his knees on the cement stairs that led to his house a few too many times, the call of the forest leading him to stumble down them haphazardly. He’d learned to dodge the crack in the pavement over the years, the rugged, upturned surface catching on his toes until his hands peeled with scrapes and his knees bloomed with bruises like purple ink.

The alleyways and stairs between his house and the next were never frequented, the town bustling instead by the bay; crab-fisherman and shrimp boats dragging cages and nets through the white waves that crashed against the docks. The beaches had never been a safe place to swim, littered with rogue waves and rip currents that dragged swimmers underneath, but the few whale watching vessels that chugged through the heavy waves attracted the majority of the town.

The city had long since been built off an economy of tourism, the few occupations made up of fisherman and teachers. Akaashi made a point of keeping the forest and its lakes to himself, leaving the crowded beach front to the rest of the town.

His parents worked as marine scientists, the sea at the edge of town an open opportunity for constant work. They weren’t often home, but instead went between the next city’s university research center and the ocean, leaving his older brother to support him.

His brother was home just as little as Akaashi’s parents, disappearing to the dilapidated corners of town until he’d reappear, eyes bloodshot and hair matted down with grease.

Akaashi didn’t much mind being home alone, the creaking floorboards of the house ringing in the soft silences between his breaths. It never got cold enough to feel lonely there, and the window to his room opened onto a view of the stray cats that stalked back and forth along the alley, trudging through the puddles that remained there permanently with the constant torrent of afternoon rainstorms.

Akaashi pressed his cheeks onto the knees he held tucked into his chest, letting his eyes fall shut. The sun burned his neck to red and he could smell the pungent scent of sweat clinging to his clothes. The top of his head felt hot from the sunlight that sunk into his dark hair, warming it until it stung to the touch.

“Dad’s coming home,” he whispered into the silence of the forest, heat buzzing over his skin. “Mom, too.”

He let his fingers slip into his pocket, tugging the warmed sandwich out and letting it sit heavily in his palms. It was slightly flattened from his pants, the plastic having embedded itself into the grains until it seemed mold together, sticking as he peeled it away.

He’d never been very good at making sandwiches, could never decide on what was the proper proportions, and a bit of mayonnaise slipped from the bread onto his pinkie, warm and wet like sludge on his skin. The bread stuck to the roof of his mouth when he chewed, grinding to a tasteless mush against his molars until he felt nauseated.

“Nii-chan’s been gone a while, so I had to make dinner last night. I burnt myself.” He pulled a sticky hand off the food he held, surveying the red skin on the edge of his palm. “The stove gets really hot.”

He wiped his hands on the front of his jeans, letting the smearing of white slip across the rough fabric of his pants. He set the bread onto the wrinkled plastic wrap and rested his jaw in his hands.

“It’s gotten kind of boring, but I like the quiet. Nii-chan yells a lot, it’s kind of uncomfortable.”

The grave marker didn’t acknowledge him and he let his eyes rest over it, the tilted rectangle burning into his eyes as the sun glinted off it.

A sharp inhale brought the sting of salty air into his lungs, the humidity clinging to his lungs like a vice. He pushed upward, his knees aching from the effort, and bowed his head slightly. The leaves crinkled below his torn sneakers as he turned away, pushing the thick underbrush from before him.

Akaashi had always been a quiet child, as an infant existing merely in the comforts of eating and sleeping. He’d been raised on his parents’ research boat, the constant company of the ocean sloshing playfully against the ship’s flank until it carved his own personality to resemble the still surface of its rippling water.

He’d fallen overboard once, when he was merely two feet tall and could barely totter on two stiff legs.

But the ocean had embraced him in its gentle, sun-warmed current, submerging him in its heat with the familiarity of family and pushing him nearer the vessel. The heaviness of his sore muscles and awkward, childish limbs had disappeared, wrapped instead in the silken fingertips of salt water.

He’d cried when he was hoisted aboard.

Akaashi didn’t get to swim in the ocean very often, he didn’t like the constant crowds that loomed above him and the walk was a long ways away. His parents didn’t like the risks the waves imposed.

He strummed his finger along the bark of a tree, his fingers catching on the vibrant vine that twined upward as he slipped out of the tree line. There was a small hill that led downward toward his house, the steep decline overgrown with tall grass that hid various snakes. He let his toes curl in his sneakers as he trudged through.

The grass came up to his thighs, the scuffed form of his sneakers disappearing below him. He left his imprint behind him, the long yellow stalks matted down in his trail. His hands itched where the tall blades slipped across them, cutting into the skin.

A cat brushed against his calf when he stepped onto the paved stairs, pushing its weight heavily into him. He stumbled slightly, lowering a hand to scrub at its haggard coat of fur. It felt hot beneath his palms, the thrumming of its heartbeat tangible. It let out a purr and followed after him up the steps, mewling against his shins.

The stray cats didn’t often approach Akaashi, keeping instead to the shadowy patches beneath the bushes, and he found himself inclined to do the same. It was odd then that the cat trailed behind him then, pawing at his heels and weaving between his ankles until he nearly tripped. He reached down and patted it again, his nose tickling with a sneeze.

When he straightened, the door to the house was ajar.

“Keiji?” a woman with hair a similar shade of black to his own slipped her head out of the doorway, her shoulders remaining inside the small house. “Where have you been?”

“Went for a walk,” he lied, his voice, pitched high with youth, calm. He stepped into the house as she swung the door further open.

“Did your brother go with you?” his mother asked, watching as he slipped his muddied sneakers off in favor of a pair of house slippers.

Akaashi shook his head. “Dunno where he is,” he spoke as he headed toward the kitchen, dropping the mashed sandwich and plastic into the trash can. His mother followed him, her mouth twisted upward in a pained smile. She slipped her fingers into his hair, her nails catching on the sweat-matted tangles there.

“You should take a bath,” she said, her voice soft with fondness.

Akaashi’s mother understood his love for the water, had seen when obsession bloomed within him as a babbling, young child on a ship anchored miles from shore. She herself had taught him to swim, and had encouraged him to do what he loved. When his cheeks were still full from youth and fat ringed his small legs, she’d held him in the soft drifting of water and said, “We rely on the water for everything, you know. It’s its own world of unknowns, and the only thing we can’t truly control. You’re lucky you can appreciate it.” She dunked him below the surface then. “Something so free is the root of us all, how wonderful.”

Akaashi didn’t quite understand what she’d meant then, still didn’t, but her soft ramblings to him had embedded into his thoughts. He thought he owed it to her to remember it, to cherish whatever words she tried to reach out to him with. She talked to him a lot more then; her eyes weren’t so tired.

Akaashi stood on his tiptoes to grab a small glass from the cupboard above the sink, watching the stream of water from the faucet fill it gradually. He set it on the porch outside, his mother trailing after him, and let his gaze skim the bushes for the cat.

“Where’s Dad?” he asked.

“Looking for your brother,” she said, pushing him gently toward the hallway. “Wash up for dinner.”

The sun was still high in the sky when he stepped into the bathroom, shining onto the floor through the glass window above the bathtub. He stood on the edge of the bathtub, reaching upward to flip the lock open and shove the frosted glass pane open. He teetered slightly, catching himself on the wall.

It was much too early for his mother to make dinner, the sun still marking hours left in the day, but Akaashi still turned the bath’s nob, watching the water poor rapidly from the faucet. It was cold on his toes when he stepped in, pricking his skin with pins and needles and ebbing away at the heat exhaustion that had sunken into him through reddened, flaking skin.

The house was quiet and he slipped beneath the bath water, watching the surface lap at the porcelain tub’s side, his vision foggy. His eyes stung and he stayed below the surface until his lungs burned with them.

He stayed under a little longer.

He could hear his mother in the next room, the sound of movement foreign in the empty house. It made his fingers twitch unconsciously, the water wrapping around his sore knuckles and pushing his arms to float, weightlessly, above him. His mother walked past the bathroom, the plastic bottoms of her slippers scraping across the hardwood flooring, and Akaashi lifted himself back up, turning to train his eyes on the shut door.

The sudden noise that rang through the house was strange—largely off-putting to Akaashi who had spent the past few weeks alone and in silence. His only prior company had been the white noise of summer bugs chirping and small mewls of the kittens that scampered through trash cans. Now he could hear the soft sigh that pulled from his mother’s lips like deafening laments of woe.

It only made the yearning that sat like a lump in the pit of his stomach grow heavier.

Akaashi preferred the quiet if only because he could pretend he’d never known _loud_.

Akaashi let himself sit unmoving in the bathtub long past the moment the pads of his fingertips began to prune, only adjusting his position to get away from the white-hot blaze of the sun that shone painfully into his eyes. The water he’d first found cold had warmed to a tepid temperature around him, the humid sea breeze filtering through the window and heating the bathroom mercilessly.

He heard them before the door opened.

The window above the bathtub sat above the cement stairs outside, the noises slipping through the air and resounding clearly in the bathroom. Akaashi had always been a small boy, and in the years before he could reach the windows, when he’d still await his parents’ return eagerly, he’d sit in the bathroom listening for the bustle of their return.

He still liked to listen to the sound of passersby as he lazed in his bathtub on occasion, curiosity urging him to envision other lives than his, but he found himself less enthused for the return of noise to his quietude.

“You’re acting like a monster.”

Akaashi shut his eyes, slipping below the water until the sound of evening crickets chirping had warped into the soft beat of bath water against his cheeks. He was still small enough to sit supinely in the tub, his toes just barely reaching to slip across the smooth end of the bath, but he still pulled his knees to his chest, his spine pressed against the hard wall.

“Do you know how worried we were? Your brother is only ten and you left him here alone.”

Akaashi hummed to himself, the sound in his throat growing louder under the surface of the water. He stuck his nose out, breathing in the air above slowly. A bit of water slipped down his nostril, burning in a trail down the back of his throat.

“Did you take our money to buy drugs?”

Akaashi let his eyes stay squeezed shut, his fingers fiddling together in agitation.

Beneath the water was another world away from here.

Beneath the water he was free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading !
> 
> this fic will have a bunch of short chapter as opposed to a few long ones, it'll make my life easier and make updates a bit more regular.
> 
> (if you think you've seen this work before, you most likely have as this is reposted from the other day. both works were mine.)
> 
> i hope you enjoyed ! :]


	2. keiji

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> aquarium trips

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i present you a small bokuaka interaction

When Akaashi was in the sixth grade his class took a field trip to the aquarium.

He’d given the small blue permission slip to his mother two weeks prior, her suitcase parked by the door. There had been a preoccupied state to her face when she’d set the pen to the paper, black ink spilling in haphazard lines across the sheet. Akaashi’s dad had hauled the suitcase out of the door behind them, descending down the stairs to the car parked a distance away from the house.

When his mother handed the permission slip back to him it was crumpled from the awkward way she’d set it on her knee as a surface, her signature smeared into black on the side of her hand. He thumbed over the small puncture the pen had left in the thin paper.

“You’ll have to have your brother take you,” she’d said, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. Her fingertips were cold against his cheekbone and her eyes remained trained on the shut door at the far end of the hall. “School transportation won’t come on a Saturday—he’ll drive you to the school then.”

She wasn’t speaking to him.

Standing before the door, the paper held loosely in his fingertips, Akaashi had almost found himself expecting his mother to express her excitement for him. He’d almost expected—almost _wanted_ —for her to give him a list of things to look for, her favorite sorts of fish to watch.

She didn’t, and he knew he shouldn’t have wanted her to.

But Akaashi let her go with a small wave. He still packed his bag a week in advance; the small one his mother had gifted him for his eighth birthday, a blue whale printed across the front. He still let himself feel excited, his fingers shaking with jitters each time he saw the backpack sitting limp against the wall beneath his window.

His brother stayed home in his room while his parents were gone, Akaashi could hear him moving about in the room across the hall. Sometimes their meal times would overlap, but Akaashi and he didn’t speak. He didn’t ask Akaashi about the aquarium.

When he woke the morning of the field trip the house was quiet.

He slipped a sweatshirt over his head, Akaashi had always been prone to feeling cold, and pulled on an old pair of socks decorated in tiger sharks, holes marring the heels. His fingers shook as he let them hover over the straps of his bag, his stomach twisting into knots like the squirming of a python until he felt he’d choke on the nerves, growing woozy from excitement.

He made his bed in a trance, the sheets pulled straight with clumsy hands until they were littered with wrinkles he couldn’t smooth over, and slipped into the kitchen with soft steps, his sock-clad feet padding soundlessly around the house.

He ate half a piece of toast, marmalade smeared across it shining like the golden sky of the yawning dawn, but, with a nauseating roll of excitement in his stomach, he tossed it out.

He threw a glance over his shoulder to the door at the end of the hall. Stepping forward, he lifted his hand into the bend of his elbow, pinching the skin there nervously.

The door was cracked slightly open, the room beyond dark, and Akaashi tapped on it with the hard surface of his knuckles before pushing it further ajar. The room remained still and unmoving, the curtains drawn over the window on the opposite wall and drenching the room in shadows.

“Nii-chan?” he whispered into the dark, his nails clasping over the tender skin painfully. He tugged it slightly, stepping further in and craning his head forward. He squinted in the dark, shuffling his feet across the hardwood nervously.

The room was empty.

Akaashi swallowed tersely, letting out a heavy exhale from his nose.

It was more strange for Akaashi’s brother to have stayed with him for as long as he had, and Akaashi found the sudden absence of the elder boy to be more familiar. He pursed his lips, twisting them to the side as he stepped backward, slipping into the brightened hallway.

The sky was still tinted a yellow hue, and Akaashi was still alone.

The first time Akaashi’s brother had left it had been cooler, crisp autumn air combating the smell of sea brine and fish. High winds blew off the sea, whipping across the shore until clothes sat pasted close to the body and hair knotted into painfully tight tangles.

His parents had been gone a week when Akaashi found himself alone in the house, the fridge stocked full of food that hadn’t been there the night before. Akaashi could still remember the distinct colors that stood out obnoxiously in the dreary morning, directions for the stove written in scribbles of lead on brilliantly colored neon sticky-notes.

His brother didn’t do that anymore.

Akaashi hadn’t been tall enough to truly reach the stove then, instead settling for the vegetables stashed in the back of the fridge—he didn’t have to use the stove to cook those, only wash them in the sink. He’d always had an inclination toward green vegetables, growing up on a diet of the fish and greens sold in the market across town, and preferred his mother’s pickled nanohana over the crate of eggs in the fridge anyway.

He’d waited for his brother to return that night, eyes heavy and drifting shut as the sticky hands of sleep tugged him unconscious on the small couch in their living room. He’d woken on the floor, the house distinctly colder and still empty.

He didn’t wait awake the next night, nor did he ever since.

Akaashi stepped onto the front porch of their house, turning back to slip the key in the lock. The air was hot on his skin, clasping him in the sultry blanket of summer that weighed his shoulders down. He hurried down the steps, his feet slipping over the rough concrete.

The bushes brushed across his sleeves as he passed, snagging on the fabric and pulling the threads loose. He turned down a corner in the road, dodging a car that drove past, his hair ruffling from the speed of the passing vehicle.

The path to school was simple, he’d long since memorized the few road changes that led to the secondary school, and he let his feet carry him, breathing shallowly through his mouth.

Akaashi had never been the best runner; he recognized that it took similar amounts of endurance to swimming, and the air kissed across his skin just like water, but he’d never been fast.

He ran for a while, his energy slowly beginning to wear out. His calves ached from the uneven pavement, his knees clicking from the pressure on them. The air was hotter by the sea, smothering with a heavy sense of damp, and it made sweat drip from him.

He ran until his feet burned with blisters and he began to trip with numbness.

There was a bus parked outside the school when he got there, a small crowd milling on the grass beside it. He could see his teacher, a smaller man with black hair and thick glasses, standing toward the edge of the school lawn, a clipboard clutched in his hands, and he gritted his teeth as he made his way toward him.

A cramp tore through his side, pinching his muscles with each inhale, and he bent over in the grass before his teacher. The green blades curled around the toes of his shoes and he focused his eyes on them as his vision blurred. They shone in the sunshine, the coating of dewdrops wetting the fabric of his shoes until their slate gray color appeared dark.

“Akaashi-kun?” A pair of white shoes stepped on a particularly wet patch of grass, the water glinting.

Akaashi swayed slightly as he straightened, staring upward. His teacher offered him a small smile.

“Did you run here?”

Akaashi nodded sharply, his gaze flicking to the advertisement pasted on the side of the bus, various fish ogling them from the image. The man huffed a laugh, patting his shoulder lightly.

“I like your bag, Akaashi-kun,” he said, nodding his head toward the straps slung over his shoulders and stepping away. “I’m glad you’re excited.” Akaashi shifted, fidgeting with the weight of it on his back.

He didn’t often speak to his teacher and he seemed to have accepted how he withdrew from conversation. School was the only place of companionship he had, and, even if he preferred the calm solitude of his house, the sense of loneliness didn’t follow him there. Even if his classmates didn’t try to reach out as their teacher did.

Akaashi sat alone at the back of the bus. He kept his eyes trained on the horizon, the glinting blue expanse of ocean encompassing its entirety. He could feel his stomach wringing itself, and he could feel his heart pattering in his chest as the bus drew further away from town.

The aquarium was near the research center his parents worked for, located in the next city over. The population there was larger, and the commodities provided reflected the bustling city.

He’d been there once when he was barely old enough to create memories he retained, and the small snippets of _blue_ that shone through his thoughts sent his heart skittering. His parents had been working at the university and had taken him there as a gift, one that they would all enjoy, and he’d spent the day hobbling on tired, stubby limbs between exhibits.

Akaashi tucked his hand into his elbow when the building loomed in the distance, the glass structure reflecting the tufts of white in the cloud above.

His brother had come with them, Akaashi remembered then. He’d convinced Akaashi to touch the stingray in the petting zoo, his memory a mirror image of stunted, shaking fingers and hushed whispers of excitement, a grip tight on his arm as he leaned uncomfortably far into the tank.

The bus groaned to a stop, exhaust sighing loudly.

Standing outside the automatic doors, Akaashi could see inside the aquarium to the bright, fluorescent lights that beamed down across the vast room. Akaashi’s eyes burned, the pristine white tile floors shining blindingly into them. A series of admission lines sprawled in the ticket area, the crowd bustling around the small gathering of junior high students.

Akaashi twisted the strap of his backpack, intertwining his fingers and tugging at the joints nervously. The kids moved around him, pushing through the entrance with unbridled enthusiasm. A few classmates jostled him as they rushed past, and Akaashi rolled his ankle slightly, stumbling to regain his footing.

There was a sense of awe in him as he stood outside the entrance. He could see the blue shadows in a room just down the hall, lights shining through the water and drenching everything in a flood of azure. The color burned dark in his retina, reflected back in the shade of his own irises. A color like home.

There was a soft tap on his back, startling Akaashi into whirling around. The strap of his bag fell off one shoulder, sitting limp in the crook of his elbow.

“Are you going in, Akaashi-kun?”

He nodded, turning away from the bespectacled teacher to face the aquarium once more. The majority of students and chaperons had already shuffled through to the tanks, only a few lingering beside the gift shop just a ways away, searching for souvenirs before it became crowded with overexcited middle schoolers.

Akaashi slipped into the aquarium beside the teachers, letting his eyes drift upward.

Blue water sprawled around them, the tank arcing over the wide pathway until it was fully shrouded in the rippling shadows of water. Akaashi’s skin looked sickly green.

He could see several schools of fish passing above them, the tank’s occupants slipping gracefully around the curved glass he stood in. He let his gaze track a brilliant yellow fish, watching as it weaved between other creatures swiftly. Akaashi let his eyes follow the people around him, sidestepping his halted form, each to their own worlds.

In many ways, Akaashi felt he was the one in a tank, separated from others until he became something insignificant—something alien they’d forget the details of in a week.

He stepped closer to the glass, the bare bottoms of his sneakers sliding on the smoothed floors.

There was a fish hovering in the rocks at the bottom of the tank, drifting lethargically between open spaces. As it drew nearer to him, Akaashi could make out its size to be just larger than the length of his palm, a high crest sitting on its back. It was a beige color, spotted in orange bumps that made it appear almost gold when it settled beside dark surfaces.

He crouched before it, his nose tilted downward to watch its slow motions.

“It’s a lumpsucker.” His teacher knelt beside him, gesturing to the fish as Akaashi turned to him. “They’re poor swimmers so they tend to be found near the bottom.”

Akaashi turned back to the round fish, watching as it slid along the sand, masquerading as coral.

“They’re also known as sea owls,” he said, pushing off his thighs in an effort to stand straight once more. He ruffled Akaashi’s hair idly as he turned to go. He called over his shoulder, “Be sure to eat lunch later.”

Akaashi didn’t have money, nor food. He didn’t care much to take a break to eat either way.

He stood still awhile, fisting a hand in his sweatshirt, and watched the blubbering fish continue to laze on the tank’s bottom. A few brilliantly colored fish darted past, settling deep into the pieces of coral, but Akaashi followed the lumpsucker, trailing after its path with slow steps.

The majority of students had moved on to the next room, the dark hall filled instead with families.

Akaashi pressed his fingertips to the thick glass, the smooth surface icy under the pads of his appendages. The water shook through the lights, casting dancing shadows across his extended hand. The golden lumpfish sat still beside his fingers, nestled in a patch of cobalt coral.

Akaashi’s shoulders slumped, his posture curling inward, and the other strap of his backpack slipped from his shoulder, the bag thumping on the ground.

Akaashi let loose a shallow sigh, dropping his hand and turning away from the lumpsucker.

His fingers curled around the fabric of his bag, the cool metal of the zipper biting into the skin of his palm, when it was lifted away from him. A pair of small chubby hands held it out toward him.

“Hey!” a boy stood before him, a wide smile displaying both rows of his teeth directed toward him. Akaashi’s eyes widened slightly, his eyelids fluttering rapidly as he blinked his surprise away. “You dropped this!” the boy said, his voice booming with an excited laugh.

Akaashi felt himself shrink away. The boy’s voice was lower than his own as it resounded around them, and Akaashi could see various people turn to them from the corner of his eye. The boy was larger than him, seemingly a few years further into his growth, and his hair stood in a tall mess over the crown of his head, lighter strands glowing in the dark navy lighting.

Akaashi swallowed when he met his gaze, his throat paper-dry.

The boy’s eyes shined a brilliant gold, flashing with enthusiasm as he left his hand suspended in the air between them.

Akaashi gripped the bag, tugging it away and back onto the slope of his shoulder. “Thank you,” Akaashi said, his voice a soft rasp in the busy aquarium.

“You’re welcome!” he replied, seeming to buzz with excitement as he bounced on the balls of his feet. “Dad says to always help others.”

Akaashi tilted his head to the side, nodding slowly. He stepped back, the bulge of his backpack brushing across the glass. “Thank you.”

“You said that already!” A laugh followed his words, the sound warm and loud. “What’re you looking at?” The boy craned his neck to the side, staring with wide eyes into the tank. Akaashi turned to follow his gaze.

“It’s called a sea owl,” Akaashi said simply, gesturing toward the small fish in the sand.

“My brother calls me a horned owl!” the boy said as he pressed his index finger against the glass. Akaashi’s eyebrow twitched.

Akaashi had never seen an owl other than in pictures online, the perfectly posed ones used for animal magazines, but, as he glanced to the loud boy, he thought he could see the resemblance in the way he kept his eyes wide, his hair spiked upward. The boy turned to him with a smile, bouncing on his toes once more.

“I’m-” he started, his lips curled with a grin.

“Koutarou,” a voice interrupted the boy and he whipped around, facing the person standing behind him, a head of similarly unruly dark hair standing out in the dark. “We’re going.”

Akaashi watched them with a weary eye, his hands curling around the straps of his bag and pulling them together across his chest, linking his fingers.

The boy turned to him, the wide smile still sitting warmly across his features. He said, “I have to go,” before he hesitated, stepping back and turning out the insides of his pockets. He clasped his hand around a large candy bar, the plastic crinkling in his palms. “This is my favorite!” he said, beaming down at Akaashi. He grabbed one of Akaashi’s hands and slipped the snack into it with warm, sweaty palms. “You should have it. It was nice to meet you!”

Akaashi stood still a while, watching the boy disappear into the crowd of his classmates and strangers.

The candy was hot against his palms, the smooth plastic wrinkled from his pocket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a forewarning: the majority of this will be character growth heavy, so while the main plot is about my boys bokuaka (and kuroken), it'll take a solid minute before they /really/ meet because they have to do some things on their own first... it's /slow/ burn, i'm about 15k in and we're not up to present day yet, i'm sorryyyy... i didn't realize my plans were gonna stretch it out like that D:
> 
> as of right now i will be updating every sunday (or monday, depending on where you live), however i'm getting a bit ahead so once i have a solid number of chapters done i'll update twice a week (i currently have 5 chapters done). 
> 
> i hope you enjoyed!


	3. keiji

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bokuaka mini interaction pt. 2 and kuroo (he's 19 here, the age difference between Kuroo and Bokuto versus Kenma and Akaashi will be three years)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> brief mention of suicide

The waves crashed like titans on the beach, writhing walls of white and blue rearing back and hissing against the sturdy pillars of the dock. Pale gray pebbles of sand scattered with it, dragging across the shore in the tight grasp of the ocean, until the waves returned once more, pummeling against the outcrop of rock below. A patch of ominous clouds rolled forward, spread dark across the horizon, shadowed by the torrent of rain that poured down below it.

Thunder clapped in the distance, veins of lightning breaking through the dark abyss to sprawl bright over the water, piercing light into the blackness of the ocean.

Akaashi sat on the pier at sixteen years old, watching a fisherman’s boat bob agonizingly in the catastrophic water. The lights on the boardwalk were on, gleaming uselessly in the cover of the storm. There was a chill in the air, wind whistling over the sea foam.

Salt water sprayed in Akaashi’s face, stinging his eyes.

He dropped his forehead to rest on the knobby curve of his knees, rubbing his head harshly against the joint in an effort to ebb away at the headache that pounded against the front of his skull. The acrid sea brine was dizzying, burning in the back of his nose until tears formed in the corners of his eyes. He swiped one away when it dripped in a slow descent down the curve of his cheek.

It had been misting the entirety of the day, the sky a stretch of slate gray clouds that left him feeling tepid and sick. He’d slept in later than usual, the lethargy muddling his thoughts.

His bare arms shook as the rain began to splatter across his skin, cold in the night air.

Akaashi rubbed his index along the thin scarred tissue that ran across his forearm, the jagged path familiar over his skin. He let out a sigh, his stomach curling with sick.

An hour before, he’d called the cops; two hours before, the house had been quiet and empty.

His parents had been due to arrive back home from the research center in the early afternoon, having been gone two weeks, and Akaashi had planned to make them a small dinner, the ingredients still sitting heavily at the back of the fridge. He’d bought them the day prior, browsing the grocery store aisles until he settled on a dish that seemed remotely appetizing.

He’d grown to be a good cook over the years, something owed largely to long days spent alone at the stove. He’d become used to reaching for the stash of burn salve and plasters he kept in the kitchen drawer; a precaution for when knives grew too heavy to be wielded steadily and pots heated much too quickly to be comprehensible. He did so until they were no longer needed.

Akaashi leaned back, his shoulder blades digging into the wood paneling of the dock.

When Akaashi’s parents had arrived home, they’d already eaten. It was well past seven, the dark sky growing dimmer with nightfall, and the small white bag of leftovers burned like betrayal in Akaashi’s eyes.

It was something so small, something Akaashi was sure that hours prior he didn’t really care about. But the moments since had muddled his memories. Stress and fear had seeped into everything he’d seen that day until he couldn’t remember what it felt like to not care.

Akaashi wasn’t sure how long his brother had been gone, though he had noticed the week prior when a dish had slipped from his grip just how quiet the house had been. He returned home after their parents earlier that night, when the three had settled on the couch to watch a movie.

It was dark in the house, the lights all shut off but for the table lamp that sat at the end of the sofa, the light bulb glowing a strange green shade. It had always taken a while for the bulb to heat up, starting dim before it gradually illuminated the room in its sickly pale green. The television had made up for the area the lamp failed to light, casting its flickering image into the shadowed corners.

It was when the lamp was still dim, the wood table it perched on the only area it had managed to brighten, that the front door swung open.

Akaashi could feel the chill of the storm that blew in through the open door curl around his skin, goosebumps crawling over his forearms.

His mom paused the movie.

Akaashi didn’t generally enjoy movies, it had always felt awkward to sit in silence and stare at the television. There was an unwritten rule in his family that speaking wasn’t allowed during films and, while Akaashi had never been incapable of keeping quiet, he had always felt uncomfortable in the corner of the cramped couch, boredom seeping through his veins as he watched the irrational decisions of another play out.

If Akaashi were going to be quiet, he’d rather it be alone on his own accord.

But, in that moment, there was distinct annoyance that flooded him when the screen froze. It wasn’t an important scene, Akaashi wasn’t even entirely sure what had been happening on screen, but the sight of the character stilled, their mouth open mid speech, irritated him.

His mother straightened beside him, her brows furrowed as she turned to the figure by the door. Akaashi kept his eyes on the television screen, trying to remember what the man had been saying.

“Where were you?”

The actor’s lips were rounded into an “O,” the soft shape that often followed a pleasantly soft word.

“I was out.”

Akaashi shut his eyes, inhaling to rid himself of the urge to release a petulant sigh. Normally, he didn’t care about movies, wouldn’t have minded if she’d paused it at its climax, but everything seemed to be irritating him then, and the interruption was no different.

“Come sit, let’s talk,” his mother patted the seat beside her, just on the other side of Akaashi. It was then that he stood, turning to head down the hallway. She stopped him with a hand on his wrist, saying, “Keiji, you too: sit—I’d like to hear your opinion on this.”

He held her gaze a moment, the corners of his lips quirking down. He moved to sit back down when she lifted a thin eyebrow, testing him.

“Keiji, has your brother been gone the entire time we were working?” his dad asked. His posture was stiff, his shoulders drawn back until he looked bigger than normal, the curve of his spine straightened until he appeared scarily tall.

“Please do not put me in the middle of this,” Akaashi said, his voice level as he stared at the paused movie. He fiddled with his fingers in his lap, bending the knuckles back painfully.

“Answer your father, Keiji.”

He was uncomfortably aware of the dip in the couch beside him, his brother sitting back against the cushion. Akaashi sighed softly, cracking a knuckle agitatedly. “Yes. May I leave now?”

Wind whipped the netting of the window against the pane, the sound cracking like a whip in the silence.

“Where have you been?” his mother addressed the boy beside him, leaning back into the couch cushion. Akaashi eyed her warily, a sudden twitch wracking his body as he grew more uncomfortable still, his legs itching him to carry him down the hallway toward his bedroom. He startled when he was jostled.

“What does it matter to you?” his brother asked, shifting to face his mother. He held a similar stance to their father, pushing his chest outward to appear larger. “You’re not here half the time to worry about it.”

Akaashi didn’t listen to much else, training his ears to the sounds of his heart pounding off tempo from the pattering of rain outside. His eyesight grew hazy as he stared at the television screen, the image shivering as his pupils dilated, focusing in and out on the curve of the actor’s lips. The bottom lip was dry and cracked slightly, chewed to red.

His brother stood at some point, and the sudden release of weight made the couch cushion expand and Akaashi felt himself move slightly. It was still quiet in his head, the haziness of his thoughts blocking the sounds from slipping into his eardrums. His eyelids slid lower until the image of the screen gave way to utter darkness.

It unnerved him, the dark sending adrenaline to thrum through him until his hands shook in the other’s grasp with anxiety.

Something shattered and his mother let out a yelp beside him. It made his ears ring.

Akaashi stood, slowly, his legs shaking until his own thoughts seemed to tremble, indecipherable and unclear in his head. His mom was screaming loud behind him, her voice shrill, but it sounded distant. He pulled his phone from his pocket, his fingers numb. He couldn’t feel the cool press of his thumb against the screen, his fingers clumsy over the keypad.

Akaashi couldn’t remember what he’d said or how long he’d stayed on the phone. He stood on the front porch a while, the rain matting the soft curls of his hair flat against his skin. He felt ill and cold. He could feel his body teetering, the weight of his skull on his neck growing to be too much.

The sirens and lights made it worse, parked at the end of the cement stairs.

The knot that clogged his throat was nauseating.

There was a man—no, a boy—beside Akaashi. He smelled like hair gel and the formaldehyde that clung to new clothing. It made Akaashi’s stomach cramp but he swallowed his revulsion. He watched the steam that rose from the pavement as the rain hissed over it instead.

A hand clasped his bony shoulder, the large palm pressing down to lead Akaashi into a seated position. He let his head rest on the railing of the stairs, feeling the drip of rainwater over his face.

“Akaashi-san?” there was a low voice resonating from beside him, the grip still firm on him. “My name is Kuroo Tetsurou, can you tell me if you're okay?”

Akaashi hummed, the sound swallowed by the downpour. “I’m fine.”

“Ah, I can clearly see that. Find me if you collapse.”

“That’s alright,” Akaashi deadpanned, pressing his hands into his knees. He stood, swaying slightly, the lightness in his head still plaguing him.

“Sit down.” Akaashi turned to the police officer, eying the jet black hair that sat spiked up at the back of his head, a piece hanging down in front of his eyes. The corner of his lip was curled, the smirk pressing the skin beside his nose inward and casting shadows over his face.

“You’re a cop?”

“Yup.”

“Aren’t you kinda young?”

“I just look _really_ good for my age,” he replied, his brow ticking up. The hair that spilled over his forehead was sopping wet, sticking to the skin of his forehead.

“I’m sure.” Akaashi turned back toward the house, ignoring the firm grip the police officer held on his sleeve. He felt his stomach drop when he watched the door open, his brother pulled through the doorway, restrained by a pair of glistening wet handcuffs. There was a bruise forming high on his cheekbone, the skin coloring purple.

He held his gaze, his eyes narrowed as he was pushed into a squad car.

Akaashi swallowed hard, the image of his mother stumbling slowly onto the porch filling his mouth with the taste of vomit. She met his stare, her face streaked with wet.

Akaashi had felt the snag of the officer’s hand gripping the hem of his sleeve as he wrenched away, tripping down the steps.

The dock was hard against his back. The rain had returned, pounding like pinpricks on his skin. It clung to the length of his eyelashes, dripping like teardrops across his skin. His face ached with the cold rainfall, his nose bitten red. He let his eyelids stay glued shut, the blue-black that laid there enveloping his body.

The annoyance that had settled deep in his bones, multiplying in each cell of his body, stayed prominent, but there was an overwhelming sense of shame and guilt that flooded him.

Akaashi didn’t see his parents often, and it had been that way for as long as he could remember. But the tear stained skin of his mother’s face, her eyes wide as she watched her son taken away, made his chest pinch. And there was a part of him, overwhelmed by the frustration that seared through him, that wondered if he’d made the wrong decision.

The safety mechanism of gut instinct that settles in with the coursing of epinephrine leads the split second decisions that determine a situation’s end. It would be unbearably dangerous if humans were to stop for a moment and consider various options when high on fear and adrenaline. But there’s an understanding that settles into a person when they’ve had moments away to think and reconsider.

Akaashi had always been a logical decision maker, his moves were deliberate to the extent that each slight action he made had been previously calculated. Sitting on the couch hours prior, Akaashi had willfully made a decision to call the police. Akaashi had wanted his brother to be taken away.

And that wasn’t the least bit comforting.

Thunder crashed above him, red flooding his vision as the sky flashed with light behind his shut eyelids. He rested his hands on his stomach, pulling at the digits restlessly.

The rain stopped biting into his skin.

“You shouldn’t be out here, it’s dangerous!” There was a figure looming over Akaashi, face obscured in the night. The hands that hovered over his face were large, shielding him from the rain. He noted faintly that they were paler than his skin, a color like flimsy parchment.

Akaashi didn’t reply. He kept his eyes trained on the lines engraved over the hand’s palm, curling like routes on a map over the skin.

“The lightning is dangerous, and there have been warnings about the heights of waves!” he continued to shout over the rain, bending nearer to Akaashi. His voice was nice, low and raspy over the wailing winds. Akaashi shut his eyes as he listened. "You should go home, you're lucky I was passing by! What if you had gotten pulled in?"

It was vaguely amusing to be scolded by someone doing the same as him, the rain pummeling the pair together.

He listened to the man continue to ramble above him, the sound of his voice coming closer then. Akaashi could feel the stranger’s warmth penetrate his sea of cold, body heat emanating from him as he crouched nearer Akaashi’s supine form. He could feel the man’s hands triggering the nerves on his face to fire.

Suddenly, Akaashi sat up, his nose knocking into the palms above him.

“Are you alright?” the voice asked, frantic over the storm.

Akaashi rolled his head on his neck to face the man beside him, knitting his eyebrows together apathetically. “I’m fine. You should go inside.”

The man’s hair dripped over his forehead, colored like salt and pepper and flat from the rain. The dark shielded the rest of his features from view, the far off streetlight illuminating only the strong arch of his nose. Akaashi could feel him bristle beside him, rearing back slightly in surprise. Akaashi half expected him to storm off in offense, but instead he let out a loud laugh.

“I’d begun to think you’d died!”

“You’ll rouse even the dead with how much you talk,” Akaashi replied dryly, standing once more. He threw a look over his shoulder at the writhing sea, the waves riddled with turmoil.

“Well, I’m glad then!” the man boomed back, his voice inflected with a smile.

Akaashi hummed, keeping his head turned away. His neck itched when the stranger remained behind him, the feel of his gaze making him twitch slightly. “I’m not going to jump, if that’s what you think.”

“No!” His outburst was loud, startling Akaashi into turning toward him. He could see the glint of his eyes, wide in the dark. They were an amber color, flecks of gold bright despite the all consuming darkness that surrounded the pier, black water bubbling below. “That’s not what I thought, it’s just… it’s not safe by the water. You should come away.”

Akaashi tilted his head skeptically. “You can go if you’re nervous, I’ll be fine.”

“There’s a nice coffee shop I’ve been to up the road from here, maybe they’d still be open”

“They close at seven,” Akaashi said, but he backed away from the dock’s edge despite himself. The black outline of the man’s shoulders sagged, his head bowing slightly in relief. Akaashi watched water stream from the tip of the man’s nose, the rain an unrelenting force against their backs. “Goodnight, you should get out of the rain,” he said, hurrying down the pier and away from the man.

He was aware of him stumbling after him, his footsteps heavy on the wood planks.

There was a part of him that felt resentful toward the man, an invasion to his abode of guilt. But a larger part knew he’d have to go back to the house eventually.

It was better to get it over with.

“Where will you go?”

Akaashi shot him a sidelong glance. “My house,” he said, and continued up the tall slope of the road, away from the man with a kind voice and warm body and into the cold, hard rainfall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello again, i changed my mind: i'm going to post whenever i feel like it (which means at least once a week, but probably more).
> 
> just a (long) note:  
> i in no way mean to glorify or romanticize things like substance abuse or mental illness. i have personally suffered through the majority of what i write about, solely because i'm not comfortable trying to write about something i could get completely wrong. besides, mental health is the most important aspect of this, whereas the substance abuse/family issues are the cause, not the whole plotline so they won't be elaborated a crazy lot.
> 
> also: if it wasn't clear, Akaashi dissociates here (loses brief memories, feels really unattached to his body, etc.) 
> 
> if you want to critique my writing of any of these (you feel its glorified or misinformation) please please please do, i don't want anyone feeling uncomfortable or wrongly portrayed.
> 
> but Bokuto is a sweetheart so there you go


	4. bokuto

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i give you fluffy bo kuro miya family interaction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you'll see in this chapter that yes, all the family members keep their canon last names (and the miyas still use kansai dialect), all will be explained in due time
> 
> 32 chapters is my current estimate for this fic's length, may end up shortening it

Bokuto stumbled, the toe of his shoe catching on the staircase step. He felt himself lurch forward, his feet kicking out behind him, and fell into a heap on the second floor landing, a loud laugh bursting from his lips.

“Bo! Yer so loud, it’s too easy to find ya,” a small voice chased him up the stairs, the soft pattering of four sets of feet smacking the hardwood.

“Sorry, Tsum-Tsum,” Bokuto chuckled, turning to lay on his back. He rubbed the skin on his chin, growing red from the blow of the hard floor. A stair jabbed uncomfortably into his spine, his back arched to lay over the steps. “I’m too big for this game.”

“Nii-chan is too clumsy, how lame. Ya ain’t even sorry, are ya?” Atsumu climbed onto Bokuto, his hands fisting into the fabric of his shirt. Bokuto settled a hand on the boy’s thin frame, thumping his head back onto the ground.

There was a light fixture hanging above them in the second floor hallway, its golden coloring streaming down and sending the twin’s straw hair glimmering. The brass ornamentation around the fixture reflected the bulb’s light, and Bokuto squinted against its shine, focusing his eyes on Atsumu’s face.

The boy had leaned in close, his hot breath fanning over Bokuto’s nose as he trained his eyes on his elder brother. He scrambled over his chest, his knee digging into the soft part of Bokuto’s stomach and the man groaned, curling forward off the ground as he felt the air leave his lungs.

“You’re gonna impale me, Tsum,” Bokuto gasped, his voice still echoing through the empty house despite the breathlessness of his tone, his eyebrows pinched together in pain. Atsumu laughed, sitting back on his heels.

Osamu stood off to the side, his back pressed against the wooden banister beside the stairs as he watched the exchange. The boy seemed to always have unimpressed expression painted over his features, watching Atsumu’s antics with heavy lidded eyes that seemed far too jaded for a six year-old.

“Tetsurou said it’d be best if we tortured ya,” he deadpanned then, the twang of his accent making his serious tone sound petulant. His gaze was calculating as it remained locked on Atsumu’s grip over Bokuto’s t-shirt.

“Samu’s wrong,” Atsumu interjected, his eyebrow raised egotistically. “Onii-chan said it’d be best if I torture ya: he knew Osamu wouldn’t be able to do it.”

“He doesn’t care about ya enough to address ya specifically,” Osamu said, pushing off the banister haughtily and turning toward the stairs. Atsumu blanched and Bokuto let out a laugh when he slid off his stomach, stumbling down the stairs after his brother in a clumsy run.

“ _Oi!_ ”

Bokuto’s mouth pulled with a wide grin, the muscles in his cheeks aching from the expression. The floor was cold beneath him, the rosy-brown wood chilled from the air conditioner units that had been running the entire day to combat the sun-drenched summer’s heat.

He pushed himself off the ground, standing to follow the boys down the stairs.

At twenty-one years old, it had been a while since Bokuto had been home, the beige colored walls of the small family home having been a distant comfort away from the various unfeeling glass walls of airports he’d passed through. A few pieces of furniture had been moved around from when he’d last visited; Bokuto had gotten a kick out of seeing the scuff marks that now marred the walls, the furniture having rubbed against the old paint when his parents had pushed it around.

It smelled like lemon furniture shine, an effort to battle the dust mites that floated through the sunshine streaming through the window panes, and the eucalyptus scented candles his mother had bought since he and Kuroo were the twins’ age, the house remaining warm throughout the years.

He slid his hand down the railing of the staircase, risking a jump down the remaining four stairs, and landed heavily in the small foyer. He ignored the crash that sounded down the hall, Atsumu’s long whine ringing out in the empty house, and turned toward the kitchen, chuckling to himself when he flicked the porcelain Maneki Neko cat perched on the counter top.

His family had never had any need for the lucky cat, but Kuroo had spotted it in a pawn shop when they were younger, insisting on bringing it home. Its left paw was raised, meant to attract customers to a business, and it was painted black, white, and orange, its calico pattern meant to be luckiest.

The man in the shop had given it to them for free, alongside a handful of strawberry candy whose wrappers Bokuto had saved until he was sixteen, the pretty pink and green plastic stashed in a box below his bed.

“Are ya makin’ somethin’?” Bokuto turned to see Atsumu leaning in the doorway of the kitchen, his eyebrows raised.

“Hell, yeah. What do you want?”

“You’ll burn the whole house down,” Osamu said, peering out from behind Atsumu. Atsumu’s hair was ruffled worse than his twin’s, his cheek red from floor burn.

“I won’t!” Bokuto beamed, pulling a pot from where it hung over the stove.

“Ya learned how to cook?”

“I can at least make something,” Bokuto muttered, swinging the fridge door open. He hit his head softly against the handle, his lips pursed in consideration. He slammed it closed again, whirling to face the boys. “What should I make?”

Osamu beamed. “Onigiri.”

“I’d rather buy that, the rice always sticks to my hands.” Bokuto held his palms out before him as though to show them, waving them around dejectedly. He smacked his elbow on the counter top, hissing and clutching it.

“I’ll make it,” Osamu said, pushing past Bokuto’s bent over form to pull open the fridge. He pulled out a bottle of Japanese mayonnaise, his hand clasped over its red lid. “Just do the rice for me, Tetsurou said not to touch the stove alone.”

“Right,” Bokuto said, standing up and leaning against the counter beside him. His elbow throbbed, warm from the rush of blood, and he rubbed it subconsciously. He watched Osamu make his way around the kitchen, pulling a pack of tuna from the pantry and ripping it open until its stink clung to the air around them.

When the twins were four and could barely reach the counter tops, Osamu had often helped their parents in the kitchen, toting spatulas around. Bokuto had taught him how to make stove top popcorn then, but Osamu had complained that he wasn’t allowed to use the gas stove and it was a useless recipe. It was the only thing Bokuto had been capable of making.

He smiled fondly at the memory as he watched Osamu mix the creamy condiment and fish together in a bowl, the boy’s heels lifted off the surface of the stool he stood on until he was teetering on his tiptoes, his house slippers discarded a little ways off.

Osamu had a knack for meticulous things. When he was still a babbling toddler he’d whined inconsolably when Atsumu mixed playdough colors to an ugly shade of brown, their shared stash contaminated by the blonde’s messy habits.

Osamu had liked to shape them into little objects, whereas Atsumu liked to stick them into the cracks of their old dining room table, pink still embedded into the crevices in the wood. Bokuto had spent an afternoon trying to clean it back then, a wet rag stained in the clay’s pastel colors, but Atsumu fingers were tiny and had managed to push it deeper in the wood than Bokuto was aware the cracks went.

Even then, Osamu folded the filling carefully, the sleeves of his blue shirt rolled to his elbows to prevent a mess. Atsumu was perched beside him, his arms folded awkwardly on top of the surface, his torso stretched to reach. Osamu said something that made Atsumu snicker.

They seemed to have made up.

Bokuto smiled wide, his eyes crinkling, and turned to the stove, measuring out water for the rice. His family didn’t have a rice maker, instead settling for the stainless steel pots to cook the sticky grains. Whenever Bokuto tried to make it the water would foam out the top of the pot, making him scramble to clean it, but his father’s rice was always cooked perfectly, cleaning easily from the dishes.

He started the water to boil, watching in amusement as Atsumu tried to slip his hand into Osamu’s bowl of filling.

Osamu jumped off his stool, wandering to the opposite side of the room to slip a sharp knife from the block, carrying it carefully to Bokuto’s side.

“Don’t go walking around with that!” Bokuto yelped when Osamu held it up toward him, wrapping his hand around the handle quickly to pull it away from the twin. “You’ll hurt yourself!”

“Yer more likely to hurt yerself,” he droned, eying the way Bokuto reared his hands back, the blade still clutched haphazardly in his fingers. “Mom lets me cut tofu, she doesn’t let you.”

“That’s ‘cause Mom says ya shouldn’t let anyone below the age of five touch knives.” Atsumu stuck his tongue out.

Bokuto blanched, tilting his head. “I don’t get it—I’m twenty-one.”

The twins hummed in agreement, raising their eyebrows identically. Osamu said, “Will you cut the nori sheets for me? Yesterday Dad said the kitchen scissors were dull so we can’t use them.”

Bokuto smiled, ruffling the twins’ hair with his open hand, the pair grumbling at him.

It was the domestic times like these, when Bokuto was left alone with his younger siblings, that he regretted his career choice. There was an ecstasy Bokuto got from flying that he couldn’t get elsewhere, his love for heights overwhelming when he said in the cockpit of his plane, but there was always an overbearing sadness he got when he returned from long trips to find his brothers having rapidly changed.

They were still young, he still had plenty of years before they’d move away, but until then he would miss monumental moments in their life.

But, he had long since decided that, until then, he would be around as much as possible—he’d cling to them like a lifeline until they forced him off.

“How’s school?” Bokuto asked, glancing down at them as he pulled the sharp edge of the knife across the dried seaweed. Osamu shrugged from where he supervised him, leaning as far onto the counter as he could without getting in the way. Bokuto passed him a slice of the nori, watching the boy dip the palms of his hands into a bowl of water before beginning the wraps.

“It’s fine.”

“The teacher always compliments my work,” Atsumu gloated, hovering behind the pair. He was still eying the bowl of tuna, his eyes glinting hungrily. It had always been his favorite.

“Well, that’s awesome, isn’t it?” Bokuto beamed, his voice echoing through the house. He tilted his head downward to shoot Atsumu his wide grin, the boy turning his eyes away from the bowl with a self-assured expression.

“That’s just ‘cause yer a perfectionist,” Osamu retorted, setting another wrapped rice ball on the plate he’d prepared. Bokuto watched as Atsumu’s hands slid across the counter, pulling the onigiri to his mouth.

“What’s so wrong with being a perfectionist? Of course, grades don’t matter much, if you ask me. Just smile real big and the teacher’ll like you.” Bokuto’s grin grew wider, both rows of his teeth on display.

Bokuto couldn’t remember the last time he’d attended a class that wasn’t related to flight school, slipping through high school with borderline passing grades due largely to worksheets that were graded for completion, his tests averaging at percentages below forty. The one class he’d successfully earned a passing grade in was gym.

It wasn’t that Bokuto was decidedly unintelligent, he could apply himself where need be, but he’d never been interested in much else other than volleyball and flying. He hadn’t seen the point in attending classes when he could spend the time studying for other things—practicing other things.

Having been related to Kuroo, who’d easily excelled in his classes, Bokuto hadn’t felt much of a need to impress, his brother satisfying their parents enough. Instead, Bokuto had easily settled into the path of what he wanted to do—fly.

“You’ll set a bad example.”

Bokuto whirled around to the voice in the doorway, the blade still clutched in his hands. Kuroo leaned against the door frame, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched the trio.

He was dressed in his police uniform, the fabric stiff over his shoulders. The badge that was pinned to his chest glinted in the afternoon sunlight, the reflection of the metal’s shine dripping a patch of the wall in gold. His skin was tanner than when Bokuto had seen him last, but the grin that lifted only half of his face had remained the same.

“Hey, hey, Tetsurou! Welcome home!”

Kuroo cocked a thin eyebrow, his forehead scrunching, unimpressed. He turned to the twins, gesturing with his head to the knife gripped in Bokuto’s hands, and asked, “You let him use _that?_ ”

“Ya said that I couldn’t use it.”

“Better you than him,” Kuroo said, dropping his bag outside the door and prowling around the kitchen. He pulled a small glass from the cabinet above the sink and filled it with water. The warm sunlight that streaked through the room passed through the glass cup, fragmenting to glitter across the room like crystalline diamonds. Bokuto watched him take a slow sip, his eyes trained on their onigiri workstation.

“Want some?” Bokuto used the knife to gesticulate, pointing its sharp tip at the rice balls. Kuroo shook his head.

“I think he’s got some obsession with that—he made it with Mom the other day.” Osamu shot Kuroo a glare and Bokuto huffed a laugh, setting the knife down. He was aware of Kuroo’s eyes trained on him, following his movements. He asked, “Have you talked to Mom recently?”

Bokuto shrugged. “I called her this morning about coming home.”

The golden brown flakes in Kuroo’s eyes flashed as he turned his gaze to stare at the slowly sinking sun, smearing bronzed colors over the sky. “She wants you to try taking swim lessons,” he said, his eyes remaining averted. “Dad thinks it would be best, too.”

Bokuto froze, his hand dropping to hang limp at his size.

The last time Bokuto had been near the water was two years prior, when a storm had brought down several telephone lines across the road and he’d had to walk home. He’d met a boy on the dock then, one he’d feared had drowned from the rain despite the breaths that moved his stomach. Bokuto had been okay by the sea, too distracted to truly process his situation even despite his getting nearer to the water than he had in years, but he’d returned home only to empty his stomach in the toilet bowl.

It was an unfortunate situation—growing up by the ocean when he’d feared it his entire life. He often avoided the boardwalk, the vast expanse of water breaking on the shore making his stomach curl. The only time he’d ever been able to stand it was from thousands of feet above, a canvas of turquoise that expanded like a blanket below him.

Bokuto hadn’t been in the water in years, had avoided taking baths in favor or showers for just as long.

“Ah, I’m alright-”

“Consider it, Koutarou,” Kuroo interrupted, his eyebrows lifted slightly. “Nothing will happen to you at a swim school.”

Bokuto hummed, turning back to the onigiri. “I’m quite hungry, I’ll eat one of your masterpieces, Osamu,” he said, switching the topic clumsily. Osamu gave him a sidelong look, his hands still molding the rice into balls. Atsumu set a seaweed wrapper on the plate for him, bouncing on his feet when his twin used it.

The nori tasted salty on his taste buds, the heat of the spicy tuna warming his mouth. He grinned as he chewed, leaning down to level himself with Osamu.

“It’s good! So yummy, what a good cook you are, Osamu!” Bokuto reached his hands out, wriggling his fingers against the boy’s sides until he squirmed, whining as he pushed him off.

“Get off, I’m not done,” Osamu groaned, his hands dripping water onto the hardwood floor of the kitchen. The sun shone through the window into Bokuto’s eyes, slipping over the horizon like a crescent and burning hot against his skin. Atsumu squished himself between Bokuto and Osamu, his side pressed against the counter as he prodded a finger into Bokuto’s side, defending his twin.

He laughed, his stomach cramping until he had to keel over and clutch it, and he smashed his nose against the kitchen counter’s edge. Atsumu was grinning nastily.

“You alright, Bo?” Kuroo sounded overjoyed, but his hand still reached into the freezer for the stash of ice packs their mother used in school lunches. It was Atsumu’s, shaped like a bronze fox. He defended his act of care with a quiet statement of “Mom will think I punched you” and smacked the frigid pack onto his face. Osamu simply eyed them from the side, balancing the last onigiri onto the plate before grabbing one the biggest ones, biting into it gently as he lowered himself to sit on the stool.

He kicked his foot out, nudging Bokuto’s crumpled form with a sock-clad toe. Bokuto looked up, his eyes wide behind the cover of the ice pack. Osamu grinned.

“You overcooked the rice, moron.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love the twins as kids hehe, but here is the bokuto family introduction featuring onigiri because we love that for samu
> 
> b t dubs, i am a firm believer in intelligent bo (except when it comes to big words because that's canon) so like... he's not dumb... in case you thought i was going to make him dumb... i just hate when people make him an idiot because he's actually very emotionally intelligent and wise...
> 
> i started AoT today (no spoilers boo), yk like an idiot when the show is about to end, and so that will be taking over my life for a while... i just wish i didn't have to worry about college boo hiss
> 
> anyways happy almost valentines day (or happy valentines day), here's my weekend update


	5. bokuto

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> just some volleyball shtuff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *yawn* good day! hope you enjoy!

Sweat dripped down Bokuto’s back, pulling the thin fabric of his t-shirt to cling to him like a second skin. He swiped a hand across the back of his neck, the sweat coating his skin in its sheen. The air of the gym was hot around them, dried sweat caking in the hair at the nape of his neck.

Kuroo tossed the ball up toward Bokuto, watching as he jumped to hit it. “Nice,” he shouted, watching the ball bounce off the ground on the opposite side of the court. The twins groaned, stumbling after it.

“I think this is a bit unbalanced,” Osamu muttered, picking up the ball to hand to Kuroo. Bokuto clapped him on the back, letting out a booming laugh.

“How could it be unfair, you’ve got that twin-lepathy thing,” he grinned, biting his bottom lip.

Atsumu snorted, hopping slightly in excitement when Kuroo moved backward to serve. He said, “I don’t wanna have telepathy with _that_.” Osamu slapped him upside the head.

The one time the twins seemed to get along with one another was on the court, their muscles working in sync to attack their opponents. Even then nothing stopped them from whispering snide comments out of the sides of their mouths, empty glares and biting insults thrown like paper balls across the air, floating between them harmlessly.

The one time the pair had broken into a fight on the court was when they had just started, their positions switched with the experimentation of trying a new sport with new positions, and they’d exchanged critiques disguised as jabs. Osamu had ended up with a bloody nose, his eyes dripping with tears that Bokuto wasn’t sure were from pain or the feeling of betrayal.

Bokuto rolled his head back, working out the kinks in his neck.

The public gym was empty around them, the high pitched squeaking of their sneakers on the glossy, orange floors resonating around them. It was humid, but the night air was cool, floating in through the door they’d left propped ajar at the side of the room. He could hear the soft hum of cicadas in the forest outside, summertime bugs chirping into the dark sky.

They’d been there a while, the twins insisting on practicing their plays against their brothers when their parents had returned home, and they’d managed to win a few sets over the older boys, but had grown to be worn out after a while. Atsumu bent over to rest his hands on his thighs, watching Kuroo toss the ball for a serve.

Bokuto and Kuroo had played volleyball throughout middle school and high school, and the twins had followed after them, joining a junior volleyball league. They all seemed to have a knack for the sport, excelling through the hard work and dedication that had budded in each of them.

It had been a while since Bokuto had played competitively, his endurance worn down from days consumed by his work hours, and he was beginning to feel the hours of the sport weighing against him. It still filled him with excitement, his veins zinging with adrenaline, but even the thrill was beginning to thin, his limbs tiring. He breathed heavily through his mouth, his hands hanging limp at his sides as he bent his knees, studying Osamu and Atsumu’s forms.

Kuroo snickered as his palm connected with the ball, the whoosh of it splitting through the air sounding past Bokuto’s ear. “You all are getting tired, aren’t you?”

Osamu grunted as his side hit the floor, digging the serve up from hitting the ground. Atsumu set it up, high enough for Osamu to scramble to stand and slam it down onto the court. It hit the ground beside Bokuto’s shoes when he landed his jump. The pair smirked identically, tilting their head. “No,” Osamu replied.

Kuroo’s sharp canine peeked out from between his lips. “Koutarou, what a clumsy block.”

“You’ll have to go on without me,” Bokuto bemoaned, clutching a hand in the shirt over his chest, “I can’t breathe, I haven’t moved so much in so long.”

“Nii-chan is getting chubby!” Atsumu laughed, pointing accusingly at Bokuto’s wrecked form.

Bokuto grunted, bending to hang his head upside down and ground himself. Kuroo clapped him on the bag. “You’ll have to start playing with me and the guys at work, they’re all pretty good—it’ll get you back in shape!” he said, pushing on Bokuto’s spine. He felt the stretch in his hamstrings, air hissing from between his teeth at the burn.

Kuroo’s police department had a small volleyball team that worked to compete against other districts, all the players roughly the same age. Kuroo had joined the department when he and Bokuto were only nineteen, his fellow officers immediately recruiting him onto the team. He knew some of the other players from the siblings’ years playing in high school, the competitive dynamic twisting to be playful as they grew older.

“If I have time, I’d love to,” Bokuto huffed, pressing his palms into his lower back and stretching backward.

“Let’s go a few more rounds, it feels good to actually do something.”

“You’re incapable of sitting still,” Kuroo said, the joints in his neck popping as he stretched it to the side. “I don’t know how you can fly a plane.”

Atsumu shook out his wrists, standing at the end of the gym to serve. Bokuto bounced on the balls of his feet.

They played a while, and Bokuto spouted advice to Osamu as the boy jumped to hit Atsumu’s tosses. The feel of the air rushing past him, his feet lifted from the ground, soared wonderfully through Bokuto. His love for heights tugged his mouth into a smile as he towered over the twins, slamming spikes over the net.

Kuroo lifted his hands to him, smacking them against his as he scored. The dynamic was familiar between them, the company of their brothers warming his core until he felt it’d burst and bleed from his pores.

The sky was completely dark when they finished, stars scattered across it like sugar on marble. There was a streetlight placed directly outside, its yellow beams illuminating the sidewalk for a few meters. Bokuto walked beneath its rays, watching the bugs that dove into its bulb, buzzing in their aggravated assault against the light. Within a few steps he was plunged into darkness again.

Atsumu had his small fist wrapped in Bokuto’s larger hands, his grip tight to ward off fear of the night. Osamu walked on his own, but his torso still hugged Kuroo’s thigh, pressing close to his elder brother. Osamu was the youngest of the four, but mere minutes had made little difference to dedicate Atsumu as braver or more mature in any regard, and in many ways Osamu had always comforted his older twin.

It was clear then, when a squirrel bounded out from within the underbrush beside the sidewalk, that that much was true.

Atsumu startled at the loud crackling of dried leaves, his hands clenching around Bokuto’s knuckles until they popped, and groped in the air, searching for something else to grab on to.

Kuroo’s hands were full, one wrapped around the hood of Osamu’s jacket and the other clutching the volleyball, and instead Osamu reached out, interlocking his fingers with his brother’s. Bokuto smiled, his chuckle echoing down the barren street. A cicada shrieked out in response.

“When do you fly out again?” Kuroo asked, his head tilted back to watch the stars. Bokuto did the same, his path veering to the left as he lost his balance slightly, ultimately dropping his chin once more to focus on walking.

“Next week, it’ll be a nice break.”

“One week is so short,” Atsumu grumbled, his voice still loud despite the tentative nature of his steeps, sending furtive glances into the bushes.

“Sorry, Tsum-Tsum,” Bokuto said, swinging their arms. Atsumu’s remained limp, jerking strangely from Bokuto’s motions. “I’ve got to work. I’ll come back though, promise.”

“Of course ya’ll come back,” Atsumu sneered, his voice dripping with scorn. “Ya can’t live without us. Ya call us almost every week just to say ya flew a plane with a celebrity on it. How many celebrities can there _really_ be?”

Bokuto sputtered, pinching Atsumu’s forearm. “I don’t lie! There really are celebrities!”

The words hung in the air between them, Kuroo’s soft air filtering out into silence. A car passed by them, the yellow headlights illuminating their backs. Bokuto’s could see the lush green outline of the trees as it drove by, the world awash with flaxen tinted color before the car was gone and it was dark again.

Osamu was sniffling in the cold.

The air was still humid, it remained so year-round, but it was colder outside than it had been in the gym, the hours of exertion having warmed the room until they were drenched in sweat. The colder night air licked across their wet skin then, and Bokuto could feel Atsumu shivering in his hand.

“Should we stop somewhere warm? It’s a long walk,” Bokuto asked, nodding his head to the shivering twins, their arms bare to the cold air. Kuroo lifted his wrist to check the watch he wore, reading the hands.

“There should be a restaurant somewhere around here, should we get something to eat?” he voiced out to the younger boys.

“Oh!” Bokuto said, whipping his hand up to point down a street corner. “There’s a coffee shop down that way with really good cookies! It’s beside the convenience store.”

“Real food, Bokuto, they haven’t eaten dinner.” Kuroo raised his eyebrows skeptically.

“Onii-chan,” Osamu said, tugging on the hem of Kuroo’s shirt. “We had the onigiri, we can have cookies.” The twins blinked up at Kuroo, their eyes glinting pleadingly in the streetlights that had begun to appear more frequently along the sidewalk. Bokuto huffed a laugh as Kuroo’s mouth twisted into a scowl, glaring at him from the corner of his eye.

“Yeah, fine.”

Bokuto pulled Atsumu’s hands, turning down the road.

The first time Bokuto had discovered the coffee shop he’d been looking for something to bring the twins home as a surprise from his trip—he’d given enough key chains from the airports he’d been to to supply for a lifetime’s worth of keys and had decided it was due time for something new. He’d been tired, as he often was after finishing his shifts, and had settled on a coffee shop if only to consume enough caffeine to push him through until the night.

The shop had had cute little cookies he’d fawned over for several minutes before settling on which shapes to buy; he’d picked the little foxes because of the ice packs they’d used for as long as he could remember, but returned for the small owl and cat because he felt it’d be wrong to leave them out of the mix.

Looking up at it then, the yellow light pulling onto the pavement in front of it, Bokuto couldn’t help the grin from crossing his features. He shoved his shoulder into the door, the bell above jingling aggressively, and ducked into the shop.

There was a comforting feel to the building, the scent of different brews and baked goods intermingling in his nose, and his fingers stung at the blast of heating that slowly thawed them. He heard Atsumu huff out a sigh, his arms curled around the reddened skin of his arms. A small boy poked his head out from behind the door to the kitchen.

“Just give me a minute.” His voice was quiet, disappearing slightly at the end as he slipped back behind the door. Bokuto shifted on his feet as he eyed the cookies behind the glass.

“Nii-chan,” Osamu asked, leaning closer to Bokuto. “There’s a little airplane—ya should get the airplane.”

Bokuto crouched down so he was eye level to the glass, looking at the small airplane-shaped cookie. He said, “I’ll get that one. Which one do you want?”

“I’ll have the airplane too,” Osamu said simply, turning around to glance up at Kuroo. Bokuto’s eyebrows shot up, his eyes widening in surprise. He could feel his chest squeeze happily.

The boy returned to the counter, his eyes glued to his phone. His hair was dyed blonde, untouched and overgrown until the natural color peeked out at the roots. His eyes were half-lidded as he addressed them, chewing on his thumbnail with a bored expression and saying, “We’re closing in a few minutes, I can’t do anything complicated.”

Kuroo snorted beside Bokuto and the boy glanced up briefly.

Bokuto had seen him once before when he came here, wiping down a table in the corner of the lobby. He’d kept his eyes lowered away from the customers, never bothering to attend to their tables. Bokuto hadn’t particularly minded, he’d have been happy with a burnt cup of coffee if the cashier were to only bid him a nice day, but he realized why it had been when the guy shot Kuroo an annoyed look.

The boy’s tone was clipped, his expression irritated and clearly fed up that they’d come in so close to the end of his shift.

“Can we get two of the airplane sugar cookies, one chocolate chip, and one that volleyball sugar cookie,” he said, his finger pointing at the cookies behind the glass lazily. His eyes scanned over the boy behind the register, the smirk remaining over his sharp features. Bokuto watched in curiosity, eyes wide in confusion. Kuroo continued, “And would it be too much to get two hot chocolates?”

The boy didn’t reply, pressing their order into the cash register before pulling the cookies out with a napkin and setting them into a small box. He stepped back to make the drinks then, shooting a glare over his shoulder. Kuroo chuckled.

“Do you know him?” Bokuto whispered, tilting his head in confusion. Kuroo’s phone buzzed with a call.

“No,” he said, pulling it from his pocket and letting his eyes fall across the ID on the screen. “But he’s cute,” he finished as he brought it to his ear, hitting accept. He walked to the corner of the store to take the phone call.

“Your hot chocolate.” The boy slid the drinks across the counter, pressing a few more buttons on the machine in front of him before droning off a total. Bokuto fished a credit card from his wallet, watching as the barista processed it. His hands itched to grab the airplane cookie.

Bokuto had always been an impatient child, and when he was younger his parents instilled in him not to touch his things until they had been purchased. He still did so as an adult, leaving them to sit on the counter until his card had been handed back to him, a receipt half printed, for fear that he would be accused of stealing.

He tucked his wallet back into his pocket, handing the hot drinks to the twins with a warning that “it’d burn if they were to drink it now” and to “trust him, he knew.” He thought he heard a snicker come from the boy across the bar.

He jumped when Kuroo put a hand on his shoulder, his thumb still scrolling through his phone.

“I’ve gotta go—just got called into work,” he said, grabbing his cookie from the box gripped in Bokuto’s hands and taking a bite from it, leaving it to hang out of his mouth as he backed away. “I can’t tell you when I’ll be back, the Captain just said it was something serious. Tell Mom I’ll probably just go back to my place after I’m done.”

Kuroo had his own apartment across town from their house, a small one that overlooked the forests at the edge of town. It was nearer the police station, and he’d rented it to make his commute to work easier. Bokuto’s own apartment—a small one he hadn’t slept in in over three months—was just down the street from there, the pair having searched and moved out together following graduation.

Kuroo waved absently as he pulled the door open, rushing off down the road and leaving the three brothers to watch him go.

“Alright…” Bokuto blinked. Atsumu pulled his and Osamu’s cookies from the box as he stood lamely.

A voice sounded from behind them, the sentence spoken with monotonous inflection.

“I need to close up so…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> k-k-kenma? is that you...?
> 
> y'know, i wasn't planning on including any volleyball but now it's like... here
> 
> i'd planned to update yesterday but it was like 10 and i was too tired... haha... whoops


	6. keiji

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> last one with angst, i promise (thank goodness)  
> just a day in the life with akaashi...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: suggested death, dissociation, underage drinking

The day started streaked in hues of yellow, the golden sun ascending into the sky—it was the reason Akaashi learned to hate the color.

Nothing good had ever come from gold; it was a color carved from greed.

Akaashi woke early, the world still tinted blue with the lingering effects of night. The house was quiet, the air heavy under the cover of sleep, and he laid in his bed for a few minutes. There was a spider web that hung from one corner of his ceiling and he let his gaze hang on it a while, watching it sway slightly from the force of the air conditioning that hummed through the house.

When he stood to shrug on a shirt the floor creaked below his weight and he winced, eying his closed bedroom door. It was still before six in the morning, his parents not expected to wake for another three hours, and he worked to keep silent as he slipped around the house.

They’d been back from the research center for a week at that point, having arrived to attend Akaashi’s graduation and staying a while. He’d turned eighteen that winter, but his parents had been stationed doing studies off the coast and hadn’t been able to celebrate the day, instead choosing to do so when he graduated.

He picked up the thick card they’d given him, left forgotten on his desk. It was decorated in drawings of various metallic balloons, and he flipped it open to stare at the money they’d given him inside. It was more than he’d had in his life.

Akaashi wasn’t going to college, he hadn’t even bothered to apply anywhere. He had no clue what he wanted to do—had no desire to even try. There was an ability to care that sat like a lump of coal in him, rooting him down until he couldn’t move from the places he’d always been, couldn’t get away from the house he’d always been stuck in.

There was something about their town, the harbor of fishermen and small, rundown schools, that seemed to chain everyone in until they couldn’t get out—smother them like the waves that crashed on the shore until they couldn’t breathe.

Akaashi’s parents managed to get out of it, even for just a few weeks, and he’d seen a few neighbors move away over the years, but Akaashi could feel the weight of its iron links around his wrists. He could feel the rope the doctors slipped over his head when they’d kept him alive all those years ago.

He knew his brother had always felt it, too, finding his escape in the alleys of burnouts at the edge of town.

Akaashi pushed open the front door, walking slowly down the cement stairs.

The sky had warmed to a mix of oranges and pinks, the sun bright as it rose above the treetops. Akaashi felt his legs burn as he trudged up the hill to the forest, the tall, brown grass around him glowing yellow.

There was a lake in the forest, just past the grave. It was littered with dirt, the water a mucky brown, but the temperature remained cool throughout the summer, rainwater collecting in it until it was several feet deeper than he was tall. Sometimes it made Akaashi uncomfortable to swim in the water, the slimy rocks that made up its bottom feeling gross on his bare feet, but mostly he found the space to be peaceful, untainted by humans.

He stepped through the woods, ducking beneath the low hanging branches. In the summer, the trees made visibility in the forest hard, vines and thickets covering most everywhere he stepped. A bird chirped in the trees above him, rustling the leaves around him.

The gravestone sat in the middle of a barge, trees cleared around it, and he bowed his head respectfully when he passed through. The forest had always seemed quieter there, like the presence of death had stamped out any sound, and it was no different when he stood within the clearing then.

The whispers of tree branches and leaves dragging across each other seemed to halt, the woods stilling in mourning. It made Akaashi feel uneasy, that sense of emptiness that clung to death, and he cleared his throat when he had returned to the dense cover of trees, its tight feeling making breathing uncomfortable.

The lake was serene in the morning light, its surface rippling from the soft wind that brushed through the forest. Akaashi kicked his shoes off and waded in, his feet sinking into the mushy sand. It was soothing on his ankles, the walk making the joints ache, and he crouched down with a sigh, resting his forehead into his palm.

He stayed like that a while, his feet pruning, but eventually his thighs began to ache from the squatted position and he straightened, pulling his shirt off and moving to swim in the water.

It parted between his fingertips, slipping smoothly across the skin. He turned on his back to stare at the coloring sky, the ease of the water around him pulling the fatigue from him. His muscles were relaxed as he floated, the lake carrying his weight. It pooled in his palms when he lifted them up, pouring it back down into the body of water therapeutically.

School took away the majority of time Akaashi could spend in the water, and he was relieved it was over, his days spent sitting in the lake when they would have otherwise been occupied by schoolwork.

The sunlight reflected off the murky water, refracted in various glowing orbs like stars. Akaashi ran his hands over the reflections, his chest feeling heavy.

He had application forms for various convenience stores tucked away in his desk drawer, but he doubted he’d be hired. It wasn’t an occupation he could build his life off of, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to get by without his parents help if he didn’t find a higher paying job.

There was a certain damnation in the word that prevented anyone without proper means to an education from ever being able to improve their life situation. And while Akaashi was sure he would have been able to gain one, he didn’t think he’d have been able to complete it.

Akaashi felt selfish for not forcing himself to improve his own situation—his family had the money to do so—but, simultaneously, he didn’t think that it would change anything once he did. Every obstacle he completed was a road to the next and, eventually, there’d be one he couldn’t surpass as he was.

He sighed, flipping to set his feet on the lake bottom and pull himself from the water. He wrapped his hand on a tree root that clawed at the ground, tugging so that his torso was flat on the dirt beach.

He could feel his stomach cramp with hunger, the sun hanging high in the sky at midday. He hadn’t eaten anything all day, and he could feel it beginning to sink in alongside the heat exhaustion. He pulled his clothes back on, the soft material of his shirt clinging to his wet skin, and walked back toward the house, the prints of his feet sitting heavily in the sand at the edge of the lake.

Instead of heading home, Akaashi turned down the street, walking along the road toward the small lining of restaurants by the boardwalk.

The golden sand was hot below his sneakers when he walked along the beach, his eyes scouring for a place to eat. The water was restless despite the pleasant weather, thrashing over the shore. Akaashi found himself watching it wearily, stopping to stand still and stare in its direction.

The wind pulled at his hair, knotting its curls into tangles and beating his skin to red. There was a deep longing in him as he watched the tide push forward onto the beach, waxing and waning over the glittering sand as though the two performed a pas-de-deux of lovers, embracing in the summer afternoon.

The wind blew seawater into Akaashi’s face and he squinted, turning back to the pier and rubbing at his irritated eyes.

He found a small convenience store—not one he had applied to—and bought a few items of food before stepping back into the hot air. There was a flock of seagulls huddled around the shore, their wings twitching behind them as they walked along the line of the sea.

There was a larger number nearer to the spot Akaashi stood, their beaks pecking at the ground. Akaashi could see something laying on the sand before them, probably a fish that had washed up dead on the shore, and he scowled slightly as he turned his gaze away, tearing off small bits from the milk bread he’d bought.

He watched a family pad by on the shore, a small child clasping their parents’ hands.

It had been a while since Akaashi had spent time with his family prior to that week, and he could feel a torrent of jealousy twist in his gut. The bread tasted cloying on his taste buds, ground to a mush that sat on his tongue. He pulled the plastic wrap back over it, holding it in his hands.

His parents and him kept in touch when they were gone, he’d had various phone calls with them over the past year, but their relationship had fragmented into pieces they held clasped in bleeding hands. It was Akaashi’s own fault, he’d done as much as he could to push them away, but he felt it the most.

He shoved off the wooden rail of the boardwalk and turned around, walking slowly down the line of shops. He took the long way home, a series of hills and staircases that slowed him down even further, and watched the sun continue to droop in the sky. The summer days that should have been long seemed to grow continuously shorter, the lamenting cicadas screeching each day into a blur of one to the next.

He passed a gym, the door ajar and the loud shouts of people spilling onto the pavement before him.

Akaashi tipped his head back, watching the clouds gradually grow golden, the sun burning into his eyes.

He went back into the forest and set the half eaten milk bread by the grave, lowering his head to press against the dirt.

“Sorry,” he whispered into the growing dark, his eyes squeezed shut. “I still remember you.”

There was an unspoken sentence hanging in the air, one that shook Akaashi down to the core, and he could feel a migraine beginning to tear through his skull. Its electric shocks slipped down his neck until he felt he’d faint. He pushed himself back into a seated position, his lower back protesting.

_I know how lonely it is out here._

When Akaashi stumbled down the grassy hill his head was hazy. There was a snake camped out at the edge of the forest, uncoiling from its position on a rock after having spent the day absorbing the sun’s rays, and Akaashi swung his path outward to dodge it.

He ended up coming out of the grassy field a distance away from his house and he sighed heavily, preparing to trudge up the various flights of stairs to his house.

His eyes stung from the long day and he found himself strangely tired as he neared the small house. His legs were numb and shaking from overuse, fatigue clinging to him until the edges of his vision was marked in pinpricks of white stars. When he stepped onto the landing that led to his house he rubbed them away with the back of his hand, pressing his knuckles into his eyes with a drawn out yawn. When he dropped his hand, he stilled.

There was a selfish moment, one that would plague Akaashi’s thoughts for the rest of his life, that the police officer was there for him.

There was a selfish moment where Akaashi thought his parents had been worried for him when he hadn’t returned all day.

His mother and father stood on the front porch, their faces twisted with emotion as they held each other. A man stood before them, his hair black as death and his uniform an unfeeling and cold shade of dark blue. The three were turned toward Akaashi when he spotted them, his hands slack at his side as he stood dumbly.

His mother crumpled to the floor, her hand clasped to her mouth.

And for another long, sickeningly selfish moment, Akaashi thought he’d done something bad again.

For a moment, Akaashi thought he had hurt them again.

His father crouched beside his wife, rubbing a hand along the line of her shoulders. The police officer continued to watch Akaashi. His eyes were brown like rusted gold.

Akaashi didn’t remember who had said something first, but eventually he knew the police officer had brought him into the house and offered to stay with him. He didn’t accept—Akaashi didn’t remember if he’d said anything at all besides shake his head numbly.

The man drove his parents to the hospital.

Akaashi felt dead.

The door to his brother’s room was slightly ajar, the dark from within seeming to leak out into the hallway. Akaashi left the lights in the house off.

He stubbed his toe on the corner of the wall, the pain reverberating through his whole body until he stumbled to the floor and curled himself into a ball.

He stayed that way until he thought he’d suffocate, the building plunged in the complete darkness of a moonless night. He crawled down the rest of the hallway and pushed open the door he’d stared at for the past hour with a shaky hand. It slammed against the wall, the noise echoing in his ears.

There were clothes scattered on the floor and he pulled them to his chest, fisting his hands in the material and tugging it to stretch. He pressed it onto his face until he felt he couldn’t breath, the fabric growing wet. He felt dizzy and gripped the carpet to ground himself.

He bent forward and pressed his head to the floor.

Something glinted under the room’s bed and he scrambled forward, shoving his hand under the furniture and feeling around. The cool press of glass slid beneath his fingertips and he pulled it out, his trembling arms sloshing the liquid inside. It was amber—the color of gold and honey and death.

He uncapped it and poured the alcohol into his mouth, chugging until he gagged and choked. It streamed from the corners of his mouth and he swiped it away with a hand.

His legs shook uncontrollably beneath him when he stood. He paced around the house. His head whirled. His stomach lurched.

The glass bottle shattered when it hit the ground and he stumbled toward the bathroom, his bare feet cut up from the shards of glass he left scattered. He didn’t know when he took his shoes off. He couldn’t remember what he’d done for the past hour. He felt like he wasn’t controlling the clumsy movement of his limbs. He didn’t know that what he saw around him was real.

He went to the toilet bowl and wretched, his body heaving with the effort. The window above the bath was open. A cat mewled outside.

He flushed the bile and stood, moving to his bedroom and curling up on the ground beside his bed. He shivered on the wood panels of the floor, his vision going black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhm, haha... happy sunday... i had to keep up my every saturday night/sunday posts
> 
> oh the amount of bad omens i tried to throw in here (also: haha, that's what kuroo got called into work for...)
> 
> if it feels kinda clunky and fast it's supposed to, i tried to capture that hectic feeling
> 
> so sorry for that, it gets much better from here on out... i feel so bad for doing that after two happy bokuto family chapters :D we made it through the major angst of it tho, the next chapter will be "present day" from there on out so /finally/ we'll get some real interaction


	7. keiji

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> present day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and now we begin the actual storyline wow yay
> 
> happy thursday update!

“I think they’re gentrifying this part of the city,” Kenma said, his voice soft beside the engines of passing cars. He pointed a finger to the new condos being built on the opposite side of the road.

At twenty-two years old, Akaashi and Kenma walked slowly down the boardwalk. Kenma’s eyes were trained on his phone, even as he pointed out their surroundings, and Akaashi kept his eyes trained on the blue water. They were passing through a part of town that had been rundown for the past few years, deals often going down in the peeling, crumpled buildings. The government had recently implemented eminent domain there, tearing down the ransacked buildings to make way for the expensive apartment complexes.

He imagined they’d cost quite a bit, despite the location’s past, due to the placement directly before the sea. He’d recently been getting ads for the place on his phone, the jingle a now familiar tune in his head, but he’d never stopped to pay attention to the layout of the flats.

“Did you want to move here?” Akaashi asked, his head craned to look at the various work vehicles at the construction site.

“No.” Kenma’s thumbs moved rapidly over the screen. “It's too pretentious looking; no one needs an apartment that big. Let alone that it would cost too much for a college dropout.”

Kenma hadn’t made it through school, just as Akaashi. He worked at a bar nearer the edge of town, a place that attracted university students and white collar workers that needed an escape from their dull, picket-fence lifestyles in the form of alcohol and young faces.

Kenma seemed to like it there, he said they never made him do much more than mix drinks and on the off occasion move a few feet to carry them to tables, and Akaashi couldn’t bring himself to complain when he came home reeking of cigarette smoke and whiskey. Not when the pay kept them their house.

Akaashi hummed, shoving his hands into the pockets of his pants. “I’ve got work tomorrow.”

Kenma looked up at that, clicking the menu bar at the corner of his phone screen to pause his match. “I thought tomorrow was Sunday?”

“It is,” Akaashi said. He shrugged. “They’re doing an extra session at the school on the weekends, they want me to work it. Sugawara-sensei will be there to help with sign ups because it’s the first day, but I’m the only one teaching so far.”

Kenma looked back down, his eyes tracking his worn out sneakers as they moved along the sidewalk. “What’s the deal with that? Why are kids coming in even on days when they don’t have class?”

Akaashi shrugged again, squinting against the bright sun that drooped lower before them. “It’s not open just for schools—in fact, it’s not even related to it. They’re holding it for anyone especially struggling in learning, but also for younger kids and adults. It’s just being held by us because the school has its own pool.” He paused a bit, watching the clouds roll past. “And because it has its own teachers, I suppose,” he continued, gesturing vaguely to himself.

“Do you get extra pay?”

He hummed in affirmation.

Akaashi had been working at the town’s elementary school as a swim instructor for two years at that point, working with the gym teacher to help the children to become better swimmers. The lessons had been made more prominent in the program after a large storm had flooded the town three years prior, resulting in an increasing awareness of the necessity for children to learn earlier.

Akaashi had been hired after he’d helped in the aftermath, and the position as an instructor had stuck when the students had noticeably improved.

Akaashi had never taught anyone before, he had no idea how, but he didn’t mind the job. He smelled permanently of chlorine, and he felt he was almost constantly damp from spending hours in the pool, but it was nice to devote his time to doing something he enjoyed.

“Just a bit more,” he said. “Sugawara-sensei said it would be like adding another school day onto the week, so however much I make in a day of class. I’m not sure what that amount is exactly.”

“You should keep better track of that,” Kenma mumbled, turning his phone back on.

Despite his seeming vastly more withdrawn, Kenma managed money better than Akaashi. He helped him complete his taxes and sort out their weekly budgets, handling their finances far more successfully and comfortably than Akaashi did. Akaashi, in turn, kept Kenma healthy.

The other man had a tendency to forget his own health, spending his day disconnected from his surroundings, and Akaashi helped to rein him in. He made every meal for the both of them, and reminded Kenma to sleep when his insomnia had kept him awake for days on end. The two had successfully managed to mold into each other’s lifestyle, balancing their needs until they could live remarkably well considering their conditions.

They’d met when they were eighteen and Kenma still worked at a coffee shop that paid far too little for him to commute across the town for. Akaashi had shoplifted from the convenience store across the street, slipping into the dank alleyway beside the building and fumbling for the items he stole.

Akaashi had never been a good liar, and he wasn’t prone to doing anything bad either, and he’d spent the minutes since he’d stumbled suspiciously from the store continuously checking his surroundings. Kenma, who watched timid teenagers steal from the bowl of candies that cost fifty cents everyday, saw directly through him.

He’d apparently been on his break, lounging drowsily on a wire bench outside the cafe, and watched Akaashi rush away into the alley.

When Akaashi was lighting up the end of a cigarette he’d stolen, his hands shaking uncontrollably, Kenma had stuck his head into the alleyway entrance and watched him a while. He’d scoffed when Akaashi had managed to snuff out the flame of the lighter several times without ever touching it to the cigarette, startling Akaashi into dropping the pack into a puddle that shone with grease and dirt.

“Those’ll kill you,” he’d said quietly, standing a few feet away from Akaashi. He’d just nodded dumbly in response, the flame of the lighter flickering in the damp air. He’d thrown it in the trash a few minutes later, and continued to return to the small coffee shop for the weeks following.

He’d stolen the cigarettes in an effort to cope with his surroundings, an effort to see the effects that had led his brother to the point of dying for it. Akaashi had tried to ruin his body with alcohol and drugs—tried to feel what his brother had felt. And Kenma had pulled him out from nearly following the same path his sibling had.

Kenma had been a constant presence by Akaashi’s side throughout his lowest moments, picking him up when he couldn’t bring himself to do so.

Akaashi tossed his crumpled up paper lunch bag into the nearest trash can, sidestepping a crack in the sidewalk to fall into step beside Kenma once more. They’d spent the day by the beach, to which Kenma had complained due to the bright sun blocking the visibility of his mobile game, and Akaashi had packed them their lunch. Kenma hadn’t eaten much, but Akaashi couldn’t blame him—the grains of sand that lined the shore had blown into the food until each bite crunched uncomfortably.

Akaashi’s skin had browned from the hours in the late August sun and he rolled his shoulder forward to check whether he’d grown red. His skin felt hot to the touch, warmed by the UV rays, but he couldn’t spot any burns. Kenma’s nose was red though, already beginning to flake slightly at the tip, and the slip of pale skin on his forearms was pink.

“I have aloe gel at home,” Akaashi said and Kenma grunted, scratching the burnt skin.

The pair mostly kept quiet around each other, unneeded conversation largely left unspoken, and Akaashi let his words hang unanswered in the air. There were some occasions when the silent dynamic made him feel lonely, but for the most part Akaashi enjoyed the quietude that filled their apartment. It was the same as the house he’d grown up in, and he found that anything more would be strange.

Akaashi felt his eye twitch at the thought.

He still kept in contact with his parents, they’d visited Kenma and his apartment just the week before, but he hadn’t been home in years. The house had been damaged in the flood, the water ruining the floors and caving in a section of the roofing, but Akaashi hadn’t been there then to witness its effects. He didn’t know whether it still looked remotely as it had.

He glanced behind him as though he could see it in the distance.

He still visited the old grave, still swam in the lake behind it. He took the long way when he did, winding between backyards and stumbling up the snake infested grasses to walk through the unmarked paths he’d memorized since childhood. He didn’t know why he still went, there was just a certain necessity that forced him to pay his respects to the nameless grave—to remember it.

Akaashi startled when a siren blared, the police vehicle racing past.

He’d grown uncomfortable by the sounds of sirens and their flashing lights, sometimes frightened even by honking cars, a fact made ironic by how closely situated their apartment was to the neighborhood police station. But he managed, he knew when they patrolled past his route to work, and he didn’t much mind when they were quiet, parked on the edge of the road in wait of cars that sped past.

Kenma tugged on his wrist and Akaashi turned, realizing his eyes had subconsciously followed the path of the vehicle.

“You have the key, right?”

Akaashi fumbled with the bag in his hands, nearly dropping it onto the sidewalk as he dug through it. He pulled out the metal key chain, bounding up the steps to the apartment complex and twisting it in the lock. He jiggled it slightly where it sat snug in the hole, waiting for the click of the lock opening.

The complex was an old place, mildew growing in the hallways, but the apartments were kept fairly nice otherwise. They were small rooms, barely big enough for the pair, but the landlady was a nice old woman with a keenness for bunnies despite the policy of no pets—she visited their neighbors frequently to help feed their pet rabbits. Akaashi wasn’t sure he’d want to keep a pet there with barely enough floor space for his own feet between the furniture.

The lock had always stuck, the jagged key barely sitting properly in the space, and when he finally felt it release he let his shoulders drop in relief. Once the door was unlocked, though, he struggled to pull the key out from its seat, turning the knob and lifting before throwing his shoulder into the door to send it banging open.

It had a tendency to stick to the frame.

Akaashi dumped his bag inside the threshold and collapsed onto a bar stool in the kitchen, rubbing at his eyes with a yawn. The shadowy corners of the apartment pushed the exhaustion of the day to settle heavily in his muscles and he let his head drop to the cool surface of the marble.

He could hear the whirring of the lowered air conditioning from deeper in the apartment and he let its drone lull him into a daze.

If there was anything remarkably similar between Kenma and Akaashi, it was the extent that activity fatigued them. While Kenma had always felt the toll of socializing, his own anxiety directed toward people afflicting him with continuous mental exhaustion made worse by his insomnia; Akaashi had never been able to do much activity outside of the accommodations of water.

He heard Kenma switch on the small television set that sat in their living room, cranking the volume up to fill the room.

_There will be a sudden drop in temperatures that may cause a rather severe storm. It may be wise for residents of-_

“He’s lying,” Akaashi said, straightening and arching his back until it cracked. “No way will the temperature drop, it’s been hot like this all summer.”

“It’s September: summer’s nearly over,” Kenma grumbled, enraptured by the newscaster.

Kenma had always had an obsession with watching the news. He shaped his day around being home in time to sit down and listen in on whatever had happened in the hours he hadn’t watched prior. He said it was because his parents had always had it playing on the television and eventually he himself had grown accustomed to it. Akaashi didn’t mind, Kenma was the source of the majority of his information, and he found himself tuning in to the sound subconsciously.

They had a routine for evenings when Kenma would turn on the television, one they’d settled into fairly soon after they’d first moved in together, and Akaashi stood to move toward the kitchen.

They didn’t have very many ingredients in the house, the last time they’d gone to the store having been Monday, and Akaashi turned back to address Kenma across the bar. He asked, “Do you want me to go get groceries after I work tomorrow? You’ll be sleeping so you can work the night shift, right?”

He watched Kenma’s head bob up and down in a nod, the long strands sticking up haphazardly as they were mussed by the couch cushion. He threw a glance back over his shoulder at the barren fridge.

“Should we just order in tonight?”

“Buy apple pie tomorrow.”

“I’m talking about tonight, Kenma. You’re too far ahead of me.”

“Don’t care—there’s a good barbecue place down the road if you want that. Sounds like too much to me, though.” Kenma said, his hand gesturing vaguely to the wall behind him, presumably the direction of the grill house down the road.

“I’ll just make something small if you’re not hungry, you didn’t eat much for lunch today, either.”

Akaashi never fought Kenma on his preferences, the boy had always had a small appetite since he’d met him, and so he left his lack of desire to eat alone. Generally, he would eat the other’s leftovers and only make an amount he was sure they could finish in a few days, so long as he had something that was healthy. He favored asking Kenma what he was willing to eat, whether he was hungry or not, so as to be sure he’d at least get some sustenance.

And Kenma humored Akaashi; the pair had long since learned to care for each other more than they did others, and he knew Akaashi was only doing it for his own wellbeing. It had always been the two of them that made exceptions for each other when they wouldn’t anyone else.

Akaashi reached into the cupboard, past the bottle of alcohol Kenma kept to practice his drink making, and pulled out a few ingredients.

Alcohol had always been their one difference.

It wasn’t that Akaashi had anything against it, he’d even accepted a few drinks on occasion, it was just that, on bad days, it still made him feel ill to look at. Kenma kept the majority of the bottles in his room after a bad incident had resulted in Akaashi vomiting on their kitchen floor, but he had continuously stated that he didn’t mind. Half the time Kenma didn’t drink his own mixes, he didn’t like how they were quick to make him dizzy and out of control of his surroundings.

Akaashi had in turn told him that that wouldn’t happen if he ate more.

Neither of them really changed, they just settled into a routine molded for the other.

The news continued to play in the background as Akaashi mixed together ingredients for a soup, a woman's voice buzzing through their cheap speakers. They were still discussing the possible storm surges in the next few weeks. Akaashi dropped the knife he was holding and walked out of the kitchen, leaving the soup on the stove to simmer. He pressed his hip and the side of the couch, crossing his arms over his chest as he tuned in to the news.

_Wind speeds of forty-five to fifty miles per hour are expected…_

“Is it really going to be so bad? They say these things and it ends up being a misting…” Akaashi pulled out his phone to check the weather app he’d installed, scrolling through the area. “I didn’t hear about this until now.”

Various symbols for thunderstorms marked the course of the week after next, the forecast a mass of color over their region. He arched an eyebrow, thumbing through the app to look at the information better.

“They always over exaggerate,” Kenma mumbled, reaching for the remote to turn it up further. “We’ll just have to wait and see.” Akaashi huffed a laugh as he watched him turn the volume louder before he could reply.

“Weathermen get a kick out of lying,” Kenma grumbled as Akaashi walked away, sinking deeper into the couch as the program switched to a commercial. Akaashi scoffed, lowering the temperature of the stove and going to wash the dishes he’d left in the sink.

The weather had never bothered Akaashi, no matter how severe, and he didn’t think now would be any different. All he cared about was the small indoor pool he worked in and the apartment Kenma and he worked themselves to the bone to rent. He glanced out the window above the sink to the ash colored sky, the sun nearly disappearing below the horizon, and frowned at the dreary color.

An airplane flew past, a splotch of white hanging low in the sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was a rather mundane, slightly boring chapter, which i apologize for, but next chapter is the grand start of romance :) there's also some... foreshadowing here... so it had to be done... (i am sorry tho, it was a bit of an info dump)
> 
> also kenma and akaashi hating weathermen is just me voicing my anger through him :] but their hatred will recur throughout this
> 
> i hope you enjoyed!


	8. bokuto

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> swim instructor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and here we have an official meeting in present day (phew)

The twins were already asleep when Bokuto knocked on the door of Kuroo’s apartment.

It was a fairly well sized apartment, the layout open and making it feel more spacious. Bokuto knew Kuroo paid a rather large amount of money to rent it out, but he managed well, and the flat was worth its cost.

When Kuroo swung the door open, still clad in his white button up from work, the detective badge hanging off his belt, he gave Bokuto a smile, wide despite the fatigue that pulled at the corners. He left the door open behind him and walked back into the apartment, leaving Bokuto to slip in after him. There was an extra pair of slippers already situated inside the door and he swiped the bottom of his shoes on the welcome mat outside before taking them off.

When he walked into the kitchen, Kuroo was standing at the stove with the burner on, a stainless steel pot sitting atop it. Bokuto leaned forward to eye what he was cooking curiously.

“It’s hot chocolate—did your plane get delayed?” Kuroo said. He picked up the wooden spoon that dirtied the counter top and stirred.

Bokuto grunted, a little too loud for the late hour, and loosened the tie around his neck with an absent hand. “Three hours, it was miserable. Not that I’m one to dismiss possible danger,” Bokuto said as he tugged off the suit jacket of his pilot uniform, “but there wasn’t even rain.”

“There’s supposed to be a big storm though,” Kuroo supplied, and poured the heated drinking chocolate into two mugs. He looked oddly soft, his hair ruffled from his hands and the two porcelain mugs clutched in his grip. Bokuto took the pink one with a piece of meat painted on the front from the barbecue place he liked, and Kuroo took a sip from the blue one, a cloud printed on the front.

“I heard,” he said. “I’m on break for a week though, so it should have passed over by the time I go back.” He fiddled with the top button of his shirt.

“The twins will sleep in until around seven tomorrow, I need you to bring them to their swim lessons at nine.” He paused and set his mug down, leaning a hip against a cupboard and extending a leg. “You’ll be okay, right?”

“I’ll be fine,” Bokuto replied, waving a hand flippantly between them. “I just won’t get in the water. Mom said it’s at their school?”

“Yeah,” Kuroo said, “the teacher that will be there to register them is nice, you’ll like him. He knows one of my coworkers, so the twins see him outside of class a lot.”

The twins were in their last year at the primary school, and their parents had insisted the pair take extra swim lessons on the weekends in case something were to happen. Bokuto shivered at the memory of the flood a few years prior, his own fear of the water weighing the memories down.

They had been staying at Kuroo’s over the weekend, left alone to wreak havoc on the house while he was called in to work, but Bokuto would watch them over the course of the week he had on vacation. Their parents were hesitant, despite Bokuto’s reassurances that he was capable of being mature (Kuroo had oddly backed him on that point), and had ultimately settled on a deal of daily phone calls.

They were traveling for a work trip, leaving the twins to fend on their own between the brothers’ apartments. They liked Kuroo’s better because it was bigger, but the size of Bokuto’s television set enticed them. Kuroo didn’t get around to watching TV very often. They also claimed Bokuto’s couch was comfier—he didn’t spend enough time at home to confirm nor deny their observations.

“Have I met him?”

“Silver hair.”

-

The twins woke Bokuto up much too early compared to when he’d fallen asleep in the form of pulling his feet off the couch, the cold floor burning into his bare skin. He groaned and pushed an arm into his eyes, rubbing at the skin as a yawn expanded the size of his stomach with air.

The sun shone through the thin curtains of the apartment, golden light spilling directly onto Bokuto’s face and seeping into the cracks of his eyes. He squeezed his eyelids shut tighter, the backs of them a bright shade of crimson. He could still see the mark of the sun burned into his retinas.

“Onii-chan went to work already, Nii-chan did ya bring yer car?” Atsumu sat on Bokuto’s knees, bending them inward painfully. Bokuto yelped and shoved him off, remaining seated even as his eyes stayed glued shut.

“Yeah, I brought my car. It’s clean and nice and everything.”

“Ya smell like airplane, did ya not shower when ya got home?” Atsumu scowled at him, his nose scrunched. Bokuto’s eyes widened and he sniffed at the thin fabric of his shirt. Osamu walked past them, setting a plate of food on the coffee table before turning back to walk deeper into Kuroo’s apartment. It was a stack of lumpy pancakes, presumably made by the detective before he left, cold and drenched in amber colored syrup.

“I did. What time is it?”

Osamu shouted from down the hall, “Eight forty-five.”

Bokuto hummed, nodding slowly, before he shot up, flailing his arms in shock.

“Eight forty-five?” he screeched. He scrambled about the living room, lifting the plate of saccharine breakfast and shoveling it into his mouth as he walked to the kitchen.

“We gotta go! Gonna be _real_ late!” He fumbled with his coat, stripping himself of his flannel pajama bottoms and throwing on a pair of sweats he’d packed into his work bag the morning prior, shoving the front door open with the toe of his shoe. He stepped out alone. “Oh, shit! The twins!”

They were seven minutes late.

Suga shot him a look from where he sat at a table by the entrance, his right eyebrow raised. Bokuto felt himself wilt further, pressing the palms of his hands between the twins’ shoulder blades so they hurried to the table. He kept his eyes trained on the ground as he approached the teacher, his bottom lip pulled into his mouth in an effort not to pout.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled when Suga was directly in front of him, a pen grasped in his thin hands and extended toward Bokuto.

“Yeah, yeah, I expect nothing less from your family,” he chided, pulling a series of paperwork from a drawer and setting it in front of the three of them. “You should apologize to their instructor, though. He’s the one who’s time is being wasted.”

Bokuto felt his shoulders droop even lower. “You’re not teaching them?”

Suga had been Atsumu and Osamu’s teacher when they were in the first grade and had moved to teaching sixth grade two years after, the boys somehow managing to be enrolled in his class when they reached the grade once more. Atsumu adored him—he got quite a few praises when he did well—and while Osamu did as well, he was always a bit more drawn in about expressing it than his brother.

Bokuto had grown a bit attached to him when he handled both twins in his class better than Bokuto could after living with them nearly their entire life.

They knew each other from outside work as well, Suga was dating one of Kuroo’s coworkers, and the twins’ attachment had grown more familial, even despite the boundaries placed as their teacher.

Suga let out a chuckle and shook his head. “No, I’m not even the best swimmer. I’m here helping out today since there’s so much paperwork for registration, but I won’t be here next week.”

Bokuto sighed, releasing his teeth from the flesh of his lip and pouting. “That’s a real shame,” he said, bending over to sign the paper. The ink didn’t come out and he scribbled in the margin until a series of jagged lines appeared. Suga watched him warily, taking the papers when he was done.

“Will you swim, Bokuto-san?”

“Maybe next time.” He shot him a half-hearted smile and Suga nodded, finishing filling out several of their forms. Osamu tugged on Bokuto’s sleeve and he looked down at the ten year-old.

“I needa go to the bathroom, Tsumu’s comin’ with,” he said, throwing his thumb over his shoulder. Bokuto gave him a thumbs up before turning back to the teacher when they walked off.

Bokuto stood awkwardly for a moment, listening to the scratching of Suga’s pen over the papers. He could hear Atsumu’s voice resounding in the echo-y bathroom down the hall, the boy laughing loudly. He smiled at the sound, throwing a glance over his shoulder and bouncing on his toes.

When Bokuto wasn’t flying, he wasn’t the best at standing still, and he thread his finger through the strings of his sweatpants, pulling and tugging at them subconsciously. He’d been evaluated for attention deficit hyperactivity disorder when he was a child, and while the diagnosis had been confirmed by the consultant, it had never truly impacted him in flying.

He’d had to undergo an extensive neuropsychological evaluation before earning his certification, but Bokuto had never taken any of the stimulant medications barred from pilot usage as it hadn’t truly impacted his life much more than through his lowered class grades. He was capable of focusing when need be and could sit for long periods of time, albeit if he had something to release his energy on, and it had never impacted his behavior for the worse, he just couldn’t be completely still.

It was why he kept a pack of putty in the cockpit of his plane, the mode of fidgeting acceptable for when he directed the aircraft.

Suga cleared his throat and Bokuto turned to him, raising his eyebrows in surprise. “Done?” he asked, and Suga nodded.

“I just need you to sign these two places,” his finger dragged over the paper and Bokuto nodded, grabbing the pen from the table, “and then get your brothers before they destroy the bathroom.”

Bokuto’s eyes widened. “Do you think they’re capable of that?” he asked, whipping around as though to be sure the building was still intact. He sighed and continued with the paperwork when he saw the pair walking toward them calmly.

“They’re quite capable of it,” Suga said, “they’re just too good to go through with it.” He stood from his chair and brushed a hand through Osamu’s hair at that. Bokuto’s thighs cramped from the low crouch he held to sign the papers and he exhaled when he finished, standing straight and stretching out the odd kinks that had formed in his muscles.

“All set?” he asked, a hand clamping on Atsumu’s shoulder. Suga took the pages into his hands and shuffled through them, straightening the stack. He nodded to himself, his gray hair glinting under the fluorescent lights of the school hallway.

“Alright,” he said with a smile directed to the boys, “we’re ready to go.” He addressed Bokuto: “The boys have already met the swim instructor from their regular classes in school, so I just have to introduce you and give him these,” he shook the stack of pages in his hand, “then they’ll be off with their lessons. It’ll be a bit shorter today than, say, next week because we had to fill out the forms.”

“That’s my own fault,” Bokuto hurried to interrupt, shaking his head to himself as they moved to the gymnasium doors.

The pool was situated in a room off the back of the main gym, connected to the high school that sat beside the elementary classes. Bokuto hadn’t attended primary school in this town, he and Kuroo had lived in the next town over until the twins had been added to their family, and they’d attended their first years of schooling there. Still, seeing the familiar rust colored floors of the court made his chest swell with memories.

Suga pushed open the double doors to the pool house, shoving his hip into it to hold it open, and watched the three file in before following after them.

There was no one on the pool deck, but Bokuto could see a form moving under the surface of the water. They were fast, gliding through the twenty-five meter length of the pool. Sugawara let the door close behind him, the sound echoing through the room, and the form broke through the water, turning toward them.

“Akaashi-sensei,” the twins both said, waving their hands in the direction of the swim instructor. Bokuto found himself doubling back slightly, his eyes blowing wide.

The man was young, the dark locks of his hair curling with the water that soaked him. The tight material of his swim shirt was pasted to his body, his thin waist defined below the fabric. He approached them fairly quickly, hoisting himself from the pool and nearing them, his steps tracked by small puddles of water.

Bokuto fixed his mouth into a smile as the man approached, holding his hand out as he bowed his head slightly in greeting. The swim teacher eyed his palm, pausing in front of the group, before extending his own and grasping it, giving a soft shake. His hands were cold and wet, and it was in that moment that Bokuto realized this man embodied the entirety of his fears.

His eyes were blue, a shade nearly teal, the color glowing vibrant under the white bulbs of the indoor facility. They were brighter than the mug sitting in Kuroo’s apartment, bluer than the pool water framing behind him, and a shade like the depths of the ocean that thrashed just a few miles away. They reflected Bokuto’s fears back at him, encompassing the color that stained his memories, but instead of feeling nauseated, Bokuto felt his stomach warm with heat.

Bokuto’s throat closed like he was drowning again, alone and little in the dark expanse of the ocean, and he could feel himself grow to want to embrace it.

The man dropped his hand, stepping back and turning to Suga.

“Bokuto-san, this is Akaashi-sensei. He will be teaching the swim lessons,” Suga gestured between the two of them. Bokuto nodded dumbly, turning his head to address the twins. They watched him with similar expressions of curiosity.

“Alright then,” he mumbled, mostly to himself but Atsumu and Osamu seemed to wait for his words, “I’ll take your things so you both can get started.” He extended his arms out, making grabby hands at their bags slung over their shoulders. Kuroo had had them pack them the day prior so they could go to Bokuto’s apartment immediately after their lessons had ended.

He slung them over his shoulder, his left side slumping more from their weight than the right, and shot the twins a smile. “Have fun then,” he said, waving a hand to them.

“Are ya alrigh’?” Osamu asked. Atsumu pushed his hands into his hips, his eyes scanning Bokuto’s figure as he nodded along with his words. “Ya need ta stand outside or anythin’?”

Bokuto laughed, the sound dry with a wheeze as he shook his head. “I’m all good, I’ll sit on the benches now.” He turned to leave, taking half a step toward his freedom in the form of the chairs situated at the far end of the room, when the man spoke up from behind him.

“Bokuto-san? You won’t be swimming with Atsumu and Osamu? It is okay if you would like to.” His voice was soft and level, calm as it intermingled with the sound of the rippling pool water, and it made Bokuto’s fingertips twitch. He threw a look over his shoulder, smiling brightly until his eyes were nearly closed and he couldn’t see but for a blur.

“Ah, no!” he laughed nervously, his voice bouncing off the walls and resounding in the tall room. He winced even as Akaashi remained unblinking at the loud noise and waved his hands in the air frantically. “They’re quite good on their own!”

“Nii-chan doesn’t like ta swim,” Atsumu said, beaming at Akaashi. “He’s a big wuss!”

“Tsum-Tsum, you’re gonna make me cry!” Bokuto said, rounding on him and pouting. “I thought I was your brave big brother.” Bokuto was aware of the two teachers’ eyes trained on their exchange and his neck itched from the weight of the swim instructor’s, feeling more fidgety than usual in the presence of the boy’s elegant features.

Osamu padded away from them to Akaashi’s side, throwing a look of disdain over his shoulder. “Can we go on without them, ya never liked Atsumu all that much anyway.”

Bokuto glanced to the side as Suga let out a loud laugh, chastising Osamu half heartedly. He met Akaashi’s blue eyed gaze once more and swallowed tersely, his own widening as they retained eye contact. Akaashi nodded his head shallowly and settled a hand on Osamu’s back, his expression remaining still, before turning to the pool to usher the twins in.

Bokuto straightened from his crouch and hurried to the set of chairs, listening to the clap of kick boards and other flotation devices being tossed into the pool. There were two soft splashes that Bokuto assumed were Atsumu and Osamu slipping into the water. He only looked back at the three once, when he had safely crossed the distance and stood beside the chairs. He got an eyeful of Akaashi’s form as he dove into the water, his lithe body arcing smoothly through the air.

His chest stuttered and he collapsed into the plastic chair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can i just say that i love the people reading this (and commenting especially, i get teary from how happy those make me). y'all are the bestest :D
> 
> ah the wonderful attraction at first sight for bo... 'kaashi is a cutie, just hang on for a while
> 
> my computer is getting really upset at the miya speech haha! it's dead set against accepting that as english (which... it's not...)
> 
> countdown to kuroken: two chapters :))


	9. keiji

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> grocery stores!

Akaashi helped the two boys out of the pool, a hand grasping the deck’s edge for balance. Atsumu made a show of groaning, his hand flexing in Akaashi’s grip, but Osamu remained quiet, pushing himself off the wall of the pool to make it easier for the instructor.

Their brother was snoring across the facility, the soft noise reverberating in the barren room. Osamu had shot him a disdainful look when the noise had begun, exasperation clearly written across his features.

It was endearing—the brothers’ relationship—and it made Akaashi’s chest pang.

They’d done well, had only begun to splash each other with the water once (Bokuto had still been awake then, to which he had scolded them that they’d hit Akaashi), and had managed to stay above the water without Akaashi’s hands steadying them.

He could tell they were tired, they’d gone an extra thirty minutes after Bokuto had fallen asleep to make their money’s worth, but Akaashi had to go to the grocery store, and their kicks were beginning to growing weaker with fatigue, falling back into tendencies they’d had when they’d arrived that they’d previously fixed.

The sun was high then, beaming through a glass panel on the roof and glinting off the wide pool. The room was tinted teal, the shimmering reflection of the beams of sunlight making it appear brighter, puddles of the light refracted from the water forming on the ceiling of the facility.

It smelled like chlorine and cleaners, the back door that lead outside propped open but still doing little to waft out the fumes. Akaashi could feel water dripping over his skin and he rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, the hair there dripping with wet that itched as it streamed down the nape of his neck.

He walked with the twins to their brother, peering back at the pool.

“Nii-chan didn’t get ta sleep much last night,” Osamu said, staring up at Akaashi. Akaashi raised his eyebrows, prompting the boy to continue. “Will ya forgive ‘im for sleepin’? He’s a pilot ‘nd so he doesn’t get much sleep, it’s why we were late…”

Akaashi nodded, patting the boy’s back. “It’s alright, Miya-kun. It didn’t impact me very much, and sleep is important.”

“That’s what Onii-chan tells ‘im,” Atsumu piped in, his voice louder than the other two and echoing in the large room. “Nii-chan doesn’t sleep good anyway.”

“‘ _Well_ ,’” Akaashi corrected softly, prodding Atsumu with a finger to the back of his head, “not ‘good,’ Sugawara-sensei taught you that.” He stopped and threw a look over his shoulder at the pool when they were only a few steps from Bokuto.

He had to clean and pack up before he could leave and he eyed the various floating objects he’d have to fish out. His limbs felt heavy now that he stood on his own, gravity weighing down on him. He ran a hand through Atsumu’s hair, pushing his blond bangs from hanging in his eyes, and turned to grab the cleaners from the employee drawer to run them through the filter.

“Chamomile tea works,” he said then, turning back to look at the twins’ wide eyes. “Tell him to drink chamomile tea when he can’t sleep.”

Atsumu nodded rapidly and a grin slid over Osamu’s face before the brothers turned back to their unconscious sibling.

Akaashi listened to the twins grumble to their sleeping brother, watched from the corner off his eye as they shook him awake. He rose in alarm, whipping his head around frantically, and Akaashi huffed out a laugh, rubbing his knuckles over his lips as though to erase it from across them.

“Did I fall asleep? Are you both okay? Is it over already?”

Akaashi turned toward him. “I’m afraid I’ve kept them thirty minutes over time.”

He jumped up at that, pulling their backpacks onto his wide shoulders and scrambling forward. Akaashi ignored the flex of his t-shirt over his biceps, slanting his eyes to focus on pulling the net through the pool water. Bokuto said, “We’ve overstayed our welcome, I- I’m so sorry.” He dropped his torso into a deep bow and Akaashi felt his eyes widen in surprise. “They’ll be here on time next time and… I won’t fall asleep and leave you to babysit—that’s not your job.”

“It’s fine,” Akaashi said softly, tugging the net out of the water. There was a leaf crumbled in it and he leaned down to pull it out. “You paid for a certain amount of time, it’s only right that you get it. Though,” he paused as he straightened, “It’s possible I’ll have other people next time and won’t be able to extend your slot.”

Bokuto was nodding his head rapidly again, his mess of hair falling over his forehead from the force. “I understand, it won’t happen again.”

Akaashi sighed, pointing to the pool as he said, “If you need to make up for it, will you help me with the tarp so I can get to the store?”

The man seemed to stall out for a moment, his eyes flickering between the pool and Akaashi, before he nodded and dropped the bags with a loud thump. Atsumu whined about the things inside, picking it up from the damp ground and slinging it onto his own back.

Generally, Akaashi and the other gym teacher would close the pool together, the process only taking a little while before they would be able to head home. And, while Akaashi was perfectly capable of closing it on his own fairly quickly, he didn’t feel like dragging the tarp across the water in addition to locking up the rest of the building.

The cover was installed on rails to simply roll onto the pool, but there was an odd wheel and axle machine that had to be cranked in order to pull the pool cover forward. He directed Bokuto toward it, turning the wheel a few times as an example, before walking off to grab the keys from his office in the back. When he came back, the cover had already been pulled fully across the pool.

“That was fast,” he mumbled to himself, pulling his own belongings to the door.

“Did you say you had to go to the store?” Bokuto asked and Akaashi turned around.

“Yes, why?”

“Ah,” Bokuto replied, dropping his gaze to the floor. Akaashi noticed that he began to fiddle with his sweatpants pockets, tucking his hands in and out. “It’s just- I have to as well and… I still feel bad so I could give you a drive if it’ll make it faster for you.” He stood silently for a moment before he jumped, startling Akaashi. “Oh! You probably have your own car, that was dumb!”

“I’ll walk, but thank you, Bokuto-san.”

He stopped, standing awkwardly, his lips slightly pouted.

He reminded Akaashi of Atsumu—though he supposed that, considering their ages, it was more accurate to say Atsumu reminded him of Bokuto—with his petulant behavior, and he felt himself grow conflicted.

Atsumu and Bokuto didn’t look similar, and even their personalities seemed to be drastically different in certain situations, but the few similarities he could spot between them made him want to help Bokuto as he did the twins. He knew there was some factor that owed to their differences—in appearance, in personality, in surname—but he dismissed it and instead focused on the twins. He was their teacher.

He twiddled with his fingers, pulling his top lip between his teeth and checking the time on the analogue clock hung high on the wall.

“Would it not be improper-”

“It would only be returning a favor!” Bokuto interrupted, his neck craned forward as though it would help convince Akaashi. Atsumu had his lip pouted behind the older man and Osamu’s gaze flicked between the two with blatant disgust toward the antics but even he wore a small smile directed toward Akaashi.

He sighed and checked the time again. “Will you take me to the one by the boardwalk?”

For moment Bokuto did seem to falter at that, but then he simply nodded and walked toward the exit. “If you’re all done,” he said, “we can go?”

Akaashi did a once over of the room before he nodded and followed after them.

It had been a while since Akaashi had ridden in a vehicle anywhere, not having the money for public transport and instead settling for walking everywhere. It was a small town, and everything he needed was in the sliver of it that he lived in. Walking had only ever once put him in danger, and Akaashi wasn’t anything weak that could easily be taken down. He was able enough to defend himself while he walked alone through the city.

Bokuto’s car was a small white Toyota, a shallow dent marring one backseat door. It was dirty on the outside, reddish mud caked on the bottom, and Bokuto scowled as they neared it.

“Someone hit it while it was parked for a few days at the airport, I promise. I’m a safe driver,” he said as he gestured to the dent. “My ma taught me herself, I swore I wouldn’t do her teachings shame.”

Akaashi hummed.

The only car he’d ever ridden in other than his parents’ was, on a rare occasion, Suga’s ever since two years prior. They’d both stayed late after school the year Akaashi had first been hired and Suga had run into him on his way out. It was raining, as it did often there, and Akaashi didn’t have much more than a flimsy t-shirt.

He was still wet from the pool when the older man saw him stepping into the downpour, the water immediately drenching him until his clothes clung to him like a second skin, and he had tugged him back into the building with a feral growl that made Akaashi yelp. His arm had been sore for a few days following with the force that he’d been pulled.

“You’ll get sick and die, and we just hired you!” he’d yelled in the barren, dark halls of the school, waving his hands about frantically.

Akaashi supposed he shouldn’t have expected less of an elementary school teacher that dealt with unthinking children all day, and he’d proceeded to be wrapped up in a wad of scarves Suga kept on his staff shelf and ushered to an old, gray car situated at the end of the lot.

Suga had driven him home the next day as well, when the rain still hadn’t let up, and any other days of bad weather following.

Akaashi crossed his legs, settling his hands in his lap and turning to stare out the window. When Bokuto started the car, Atsumu leaned forward over the center console to flip through the radio stations. The car was flooded with static and muffled voices, Atsumu’s top lip pulled in in concentration.

“Sit on your towels,” Bokuto turned to address the twins, reaching back to unzip their bags and pull the soft material out. “My seats are too nice to get wet.”

“Ya couldn’t care less about yer car,” Osamu grumbled, albeit still shoving the towel below his wet swim trunks. Atsumu settled back after him, pulling his own towel around his waist. A soft sports station hummed through the car.

“Is this alright?” Bokuto addressed Akaashi and he lifted his eyebrows in surprise, glancing to the radio where Bokuto’s finger pointed. “The boys like to listen to volleyball.”

Akaashi nodded dumbly and shrugged. He didn’t often get offered a choice.

The car ride was quiet for a bit as Bokuto pulled the car from the school parking lot, slipping into traffic. Akaashi kept his eyes trained on the distant shoreline that drew closer as Bokuto took the roads in the direction of the boardwalk. The radio droned on in the car, the twins whispering in the backseat in response to the announcer. Akaashi saw Bokuto glance at him from the corner of his eye.

“Do you always walk to school?”

Akaashi glanced toward him, leaning his head back onto the seat’s headrest. “I don’t have my license.”

Akaashi had never bothered trying to get his permit when he was younger, the city was small, everything within walking distance, and he wouldn’t be able to afford a car either way. For a while, he’d spent his life in fear of car rides, the scars that crawled up his skin seeming the burn in phantom pain of the memories. And, eventually, there had been the flood, and learning to drive on the ruined streets wasn’t possible.

And Akaashi didn’t mind not being able to drive. There was a certain fear within him about being in control of a vehicle so much larger than himself, and he found he’d prefer walking or sitting passenger to trying to learn something that could potentially put him in danger.

“Nii-chan has _two_ licenses,” Atsumu piped in from the backseat, speaking over the volume of the volleyball game. “For the drivin’ and flyin’!”

“Well, then Bokuto-san can make up for me not having one,” Akaashi said, his voice level as he let his eyes trail over the bushes that lined the side of the road. Bokuto led out a bout of laughter at his words, his hands tight on the steering wheel as though to steel himself in his fit. Atsumu giggled along with him.

Akaashi didn’t think what he’d said was funny.

The sea rose up beside them, a mass of blue sprawling out below the bleached out sky, and Bokuto pulled into a parking spot at the front of the shopping center. Akaashi checked the clock on the dashboard. It had only taken them five minutes to get there, whereas it would’ve taken him nearly an hour had he walked.

The twins got out of the car, standing close to its sides in the parking lot to avoid other vehicles. Akaashi followed after them, tugging his shirt straight when the soles of his shoes stood sturdily on the black asphalt.

Akaashi made a mental list of what he needed to buy when they walked through the automatic doors, the glass sliding smoothly in front of them and giving way to a burst of frigid air conditioning that bit at the tips of his wet ears. He wrapped his arms around himself and let his gaze skim the signs above the aisles of food.

When he’d been searching for something to make for dinner the night prior, there’d been little of nearly anything, and Akaashi decided to simply push a cart through each aisle to store up on ingredients.

Bokuto and the twins followed after him, their own cart gripped in the small palms of the ten year-old pair.

The store was packed, the shelves depleted of products more than usual, and Akaashi chalked it up to the cursed weathermen again. The town had grown superstitious since the flood had ripped through it, and any time there was a chance of more than a small pattering of rain people stocked up for the entirety of the year. He spotted a box of Italian noodles and tugged it down from the shelf, sending it flying into his cart with a soft twist of his wrist.

“Ah, ‘Kashi, look at this!”

“It’s Akaashi,” he mumbled, but he still turned to Bokuto as he spoke, eying the items in his hands. They were two pairs of goggles, foxes shaped in the plastic sitting at the corners of the eyepiece. They were the pieces of useless junk that stores hung on random aisles to try and sell to people who would inevitably leave it to sit forgotten in a drawer. Akaashi always ignored them; he supposed Bokuto did not.

“Should I get it for them? They like foxes!”

“No, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi said, turning back to continue pushing his cart forward. “It’s cheap, they’ll be poor quality.” He spotted Bokuto pout, but he huffed a laugh to himself when the man settled to put one pair back but still dropped the other in his cart.

“Nii-chan, we need sticky rice—I wanna make onigiri,” Akaashi heard Osamu say, and he crouched down to get the ingredient for them, handing it to the boy. Osamu grinned brightly at him, lifting it into Bokuto’s cart. Bokuto thanked him, his voice loud and chipper.

“Akaashi-sensei,” Atsumu said, tugging his pant leg. Akaashi stopped his cart, nodding apologetically to a woman whose path he blocked.

“What is it?”

“What was the tea ya said Nii-chan should drink?”

Akaashi began to push his cart again, Atsumu walking alongside him. “Chamomile.”

Atsumu nodded, his eyebrows furrowed and dipped in serious concentration, and bounded off after his siblings. They’d turned the opposite way from Akaashi, Osamu and Bokuto turned back to wave their goodbyes, in search of ingredients for their onigiri filling. His stomach growled at the thought of the food.

He walked away briskly, his head ducked low as he heard Atsumu’s loud voice shout, “Nii-chan, Akaashi-sensei says ya should get chamomile tea for yer sleep ta get all better!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't @ me, bo would be the type of person to buy and hoard the junk grocery stores sell
> 
> akaashi, you're seeming kind of fond for having just met bo smh
> 
> uhm so... i made a little drawing of the characters but i can't figure out how to embed it so... haha maybe look forward to that in the future if i can figure out how to do it
> 
> but happy thursday! i have lots to look forward to this upcoming week, hope you do too! :) (kuroken next chapter)
> 
> muchos love


	10. kenma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> k u r o k e n

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> updated a bit early just for kuroken

The bar was full when Kenma’s shift started, and he slunk around the back of the building to avoid moving through the crowd.

He didn’t feel like coming in, he’d been asleep the majority of the day but had woken a few hours prior to play games on his console. He carried his small bag into the back of the bar, pushing open an employees only door and trudging into the darkened room. The bag was chock-full of clothes he’d shoved carelessly in while leaving the house, and he pulled an odd sock that had gotten mixed in when doing laundry.

The uniform for the bar was a small white button up with a pinstripe vest over top, tied together by a red tie. It choked Kenma’s ability to breathe easily, and the top button was tighter than the rest, but he insisted on doing each one up meticulously, even despite the surplus of wrinkles that littered the fabric.

His hair was longer than it had been when he was initially hired, brushing past his shoulders, and he had to pull half of it back into a bun to fit the uniform. Yaku stepped into the backroom just as Kenma finished getting dressed, tossing the cloth he’d been wiping his hands with toward the other.

“It’s busy—worse than most Saturdays,” he said, his red hair appearing dark in the shadowy bar. “Stinks, too. More people have smokes than usual.”

Kenma grunted, rolling his head on his shoulders. He checked his phone one last time, logging into each of his games, before he tucked it into his employee locker.

He hadn’t always put his phone away, he used to keep it tucked into the waistband of his pants to pull out when the bar wasn’t busy when he was first hired, but he’d eventually been caught and scolded. The boss liked to keep a closer eye on him to be sure he didn’t use the device—Kenma wouldn’t be surprised if the old man were to take it away from him should he get caught with it.

He favored the safety of simply leaving it for later.

“Did they come in groups?” he mumbled, his low voice a mere rasp above the chatter that filtered in from the lobby of the bar.

“The ones smoking seem to have come together,” Yaku said with a shrug, pulling off his vest and hanging it on the line in his own locker. “But there’s still a lot of loners.”

Kenma grumbled to himself, something about yakuza that made Yaku snort, before he straightened his vest for lack of anything else to do with his hands and nodded to the other as he pushed the swinging door aside to step out behind the bar. The conversations in the building rose in his ears to a dull roar.

Yaku had understated just how busy it was.

The other boy had worked there longer than Kenma, despite being only just over a year older than him, and managed around crowds far better than Kenma. He was brash, confident enough to handle anyone larger than himself, and he actually enjoyed the job. Whenever they worked together, Yaku would work to serve the more intimidating groups before Kenma had to, and dealt better with any disruptions in the bar. He’d taught Kenma quite a bit about mixing drinks and, simultaneously, dealing with social interaction.

This, however, was more people than Kenma was used to working around.

He tended to request weeknights simply because the crowd was smaller, but there were occasions, as it was then, that he had to work the more populated nights. Kenma sent a nod to the other man working the bar, Konoha, receiving a limp smile from the other as he wiped a glass clean.

“Is your shift almost over?” Kenma asked as he neared him, watching as Konoha leaned closer to catch his faint voice. He shook his head.

“No, I just came in, too. I got here a bit early because I came straight from the company.”

Konoha had two jobs, working as the employee of a pharmaceutical company primarily, but he kept his job at the bar for extra money. Kenma didn’t know when he slept.

Thick tendrils of smoke curled through the air and Kenma pushed back the overwhelming urge to cough. The air was hazy with the dissipating burn of cigarettes and cigars, the various people at the far end of the room mere silhouettes in the dark atmosphere. He turned to a pair that lifted their hands in his direction.

“Can I get a whiskey on the rocks,” one of them said, holding up a pointer finger as though to emphasize the amount. The other asked for rum. The two men were dressed in black suits, the one that had ordered the whiskey with brown hair cropped close to his head, the other’s more messy.

Kenma shoveled ice into a glass, crushing it some with a spoon, before pouring the liquor for the pair. They had their heads huddled together, but they didn’t seem to be discussing anything particularly serious. He hurried off after he’d pushed the drinks forward.

Kenma didn’t like to converse with the customers, he tended to ignore their drunk blubbering whereas Yaku would prod fun at their sob stories, Konoha offering his own sarcastic insults and flirtations. Kenma tended to stay silent, hovering near the shadowy corners behind the bar. He’d been roped into conversation a few times, but even then he tended to only grunt in response.

Konoha was serving another person at the end of the bar when one of the men raised his hand in Kenma’s direction once more. His skin was darker than the other, his hair was just as short as the other man’s but stuck up in various directions.

“Can we also get a scotch straight up for a companion?”

Kenma lifted an eyebrow lazily. “I have to check IDs first, in case you’re trying to give it to a minor.”

The men considered it for a moment, both raising their eyebrows. Kenma watched them blankly before taking a step back to retreat into his corner once more. The man stopped him again with a raised hand, the paler one smiling at him apologetically.

“That’s fine—the big boy can order for himself. Can I order food here, though?” Kenma nodded in response, his lips pinched into a tight line. The man continued, “We’ll have a basket of chips then, if that’s alright.”

Kenma served them, dropping the chips in front of the pair and nodding in response to their gratitude.

Night shifts generally became slow after one, when people stopped coming in and only those loitering until late still remained. It was ten when Kenma rolled up his sleeve to check the time on his wristwatch, sighing as more people began to file toward the bar.

The shifts were good times here, and they made good business, but it wasn’t how Kenma wanted to spend his nights. He got full time pay though, worked enough hours each week to get the benefits, and he thought it was fairly reasonable despite his lack of desire to be there.

A man leaned over the bar counter top, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth as he ushered Kenma over with a single finger. His eyebrow arched cockily when Kenma stopped in front of him, the small man tipping his head forward in question.

“Hello, pretty, can I get a drink?”

Kenma blinked lazily, nodding slowly. He felt Konoha slip to stand closer to him out of precaution, fiddling aimlessly with the crystal wobble glasses stored beside Kenma. The two men a ways down the bar watched with sharp eyes as the man draped himself nearer, his breath reeking of smoke and liquor.

“How about a beer? You got any good IPAs?” he asked, pulling a drag from his cigarette. He blew the smoke out, chuckling to himself when Kenma squinted with a grimace at the smell of it uncoiling in his face, burning tears into his vision.

He shrugged, then pointed to the menu that hung on the wall behind his head. “If you’re too drunk to read your options off the menu, then I can’t serve you anymore alcohol.” He pulled back, turning to head to the end of the bar, when the man curled his fingers around the thin width of his forearm, rooting him to the spot. Kenma sighed.

“Is there anything wrong?” Konoha asked, his eyes narrowed as he grinned eerily.

“Why don’t you let go of the poor bartender,” a deeper voice spoke from across the bar and Kenma turned, shrugging off the hand with a sigh before straightening the sleeve of his jacket. “He’s only doing his job.”

A dark-haired man stood beside the smoker, his torso leaning over the bar to smile in the face of the other, obscuring Kenma from view. He wore a clean suit, the edges cut close to his body, and Kenma cocked an eyebrow. He turned to peer at the two similarly dressed men and nodded to him in question. The men both grinned at the newcomer, the tanned one mouthing scotch to Kenma.

Their companion’s hair was disheveled, spiked up at the crown of his head, and the smile that curled over his lips reminded Kenma of the Cheshire cat he’d seen in various games. He loomed over the slumped drunkard, his towering height intimidating in addition to the dark look painted over his features. Kenma huffed, unimpressed.

“You’re chasing away my customers.”

The man turned to him with wide eyes, watching as Kenma readied a glass for his scotch, one hand extended for him to provide an ID. _Kuroo Tetsurou — 25._ He set it back on the counter, sliding it over the marble with a satisfying scratching sound, lifting his hands away after tapping the plastic.

Kenma poured the scotch and handed it to him, turning away.

“I don’t think you want to serve him,” he said, his nails clinking as he tapped the glass of scotch. Kenma threw a look over his shoulder with a scoff.

“I’d like his money, though,” he grumbled, his half-lidded eyes meeting the other man’s.

“I’m Kuroo Tetsurou, thank you for the drink.” He lifted it as he spoke, the amber liquid sloshing.

“I know your name,” Kenma said, cleaning the counter with a rag. “I saw your ID.” The man grinned at him, taking a barstool beside the pale man and addressing them. Kenma picked up their names as Daichi and Iwaizumi.

He did that a lot—listen in on the conversations people would have. He picked up various names for the faces he saw, and the conversations of regulars became familiar after a while, to the point where he knew the personalities of people he couldn’t put a face to. He knew more than he cared to, the boredom that came with not bothering to engage in conversation leading him to listen in on others.

Being acutely aware of those around him, where they were and whether they were focused on him, led Kenma to pay close attention to their every detail until he could recite their topics of conversation easily.

He did the same with Kuroo Tetsurou.

The pair spoke in more hushed tones than was usual for Kenma’s customers, but occasionally the three would stop to laugh, Kuroo’s obnoxiously loud in the lazy atmosphere of the smoky bar.

Kenma found himself unconsciously humming along to the soft drone of music through the speakers, some folk song he’d heard Akaashi play while he showered after work. He detested the boy’s taste, but he nearly felt his lips quirk into a grin at the familiarity of the tune, Akaashi having managed to weave the song into his subconscious.

The whiskey drinker, Daichi, ordered a refill and Kenma hobbled lazily to grab the glass bottle, a yawn expanding the cavern of his chest.

“Long day?” he asked and Kenma cocked his head. He was gentlest of the three, his features taken with a kind smile, but the words still felt strange coming from his mouth. Kenma shrugged.

“I woke up three hours ago,” he replied briskly, watching the liquid pour from the lip of the bottle into the fresh glass like a faucet. He lifted his gaze to eye him lazily. “So, no.” He gave the glass a soft shove and it slid to rest against the man’s furled fist.

Kuroo chuckled, bending an arm to rest his chin in the crook as he surveyed Kenma. “How snide, you’re so snippy…” he said, trailing off as though in pursuit of Kenma’s name, and Kenma raised a thin eyebrow in his direction, dropping the soiled rag just before his nose.

He turned his head to hide his grin when the man reeled backward from the wet towel.

There was a person directly beside them that signaled for a bartender and Kenma leaned over, listening to their order. He moved to the back wall to pull off a glass for the cocktail, taking an orange slice from Konoha’s pile and crossing back over to assemble the drink.

He liked making cocktails the best, at least when he felt like doing more than just pouring liquid into a glass, because of the various elements that went into it. He set a mint leaf in the glass and pushed it toward the woman by two fingers on the base of the glass’s stem.

The loud buzzing of a phone came from beside him and Kenma glanced toward the three men in suits, watching Kuroo lift his phone and thumb through it. He listened to him say, “Koutarou just now put the twins to sleep. What time is it, like eleven? Why would my mother let him deal with them.”

Iwaizumi snorted, covering it with a sip of his rum as he watched the other over the glass.

“Is Bokuto-san not working this weekend?” Daichi asked, and Kenma moved closer out of curiosity, wiping down the marble bar once more. It shone in the dim lighting, the orange lamp the hung above their heads making the black marble appear brown. He refilled Iwaizumi’s glass when tapped on the lip, earning an awkward smile as thanks.

“No, he’s-”

“When do you get off work, Kenma-kun?” Konoha interrupted and Kenma jumped slightly, turning to him with wide eyes. He lifted his wrist to check his watch as though the answer was written there.

“Three,” he replied. “I’m closing.”

-

The stairwell was dark as Kenma ascended the steps, his bag hanging loosely off the crook of his arm. He pulled open the front door, the keys jingling in his hands as he pulled them back out from the lock, and stepped softly into the apartment.

The front room was darkened, the walls appearing purple in the mask of night, and Kenma tugged his hair from its loose bun, scrubbing his hand through it until it sat comfortably over his shoulders.

It was around four then, the first signs of especially early risers beginning to overtake the sleepy night. Kenma still hadn’t slept, having spent a while closing up the bar for the day. He had another shift the next day, though it was a bit shorter as he didn’t have to close, but his head buzzed with thoughts.

He dropped his bag to the floor, toeing off his shoes, and slumped down onto the small couch in their living room. The television screen was dark, light from outside reflecting off its smooth surface. He felt around the couch cushions for the remote he’d left after he’d watched the nightly news the day prior, searching in the cracks until his hand brushed the cold plastic.

He switched on the set and opened his game, playing with the familiar controls. His eyes glossed over, burning from the blue light, and he felt himself lull away into a trance with the continuous clicking of the buttons.

He missed the sound of feet in the hallway.

“Kenma?” Akaashi mumbled into the room, the TV set the only source of light, shining directly onto Kenma’s form. He turned to his roommate, watching the dark-haired boy rub the sleep from his eyes. “Did you just get home?”

“Yeah,” Kenma rasped, suddenly hyper aware of the scent of smoke and alcohol that clung to his clothes like a vice. “I smell bad.”

“I smell you, it’s fine.”

Kenma hummed, turning back to face the television set. Akaashi slumped down onto the couch beside him, the cushion compressing under his weight. He pulled his knees to his chest, his socked feet wriggling to gain better grip over the couch seat and not slip back to the floor.

They sat in silence awhile, the quiet music of the game playing from the television’s cheap speakers.

“I met the Miyas’ brother,” Akaashi spoke through a yawn, his voice low and warm from the action. “He was nice, drove me to the grocery store.”

Kenma grunted, leaning to rest his weight against the younger man to show he was listening. He felt Akaashi begin to breathe through his mouth when the strong scent grew nearer, but he didn’t move away and instead continued to speak.

“It was a good day, I didn’t mind losing a few hours to teaching extra. Those boys are working hard, even if they’re much clumsier in the water.”

Kenma knew Akaashi liked his job, and specifically the children he could help. He also knew it had something to do with the man’s own childhood, the loneliness that followed him everywhere, and he appreciated his dedication to coaching the students. And Kenma didn’t mind listening to him talk about them.

He didn’t like children very much personally, but Akaashi made them sound nice.

“Sugawara asked how you were. He wants you to come talk to him sometime soon.”

“Did you tell him I was doing well?” Kenma mumbled. He directed his character on the television, jumping over a brick. The screen colored as he grabbed a power that floated in the air, the ring of a level surpassed sounding in the early morning quietude around them. Akaashi yawned again, resting his head back on the arm of the chair and extending his legs slightly. They nudged Kenma’s thigh.

“I said you were pretty good. I told him you worked today and he said he’d go with his boyfriend to the bar sometime, apparently he works nearby and goes there sometimes. He said he’d like us to meet him.”

Kenma dropped the controller, the game pausing. He sat still for a moment before turning to Akaashi with furrowed eyebrows.

“He has a boyfriend?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, it wasn't much, but my kuroo flirt agenda is already peeking through
> 
> i just love kuroken dynamic--serious, quiet and snarky, loud :D
> 
> also, if you didn't get the kenma smelly thing, it's just that alcohol is a trigger for aka so kenma was being careful
> 
> [my art of characters](https://twitter.com/writemmeline/status/1368398422429085698/photo/1)
> 
> DID THE DRAWINGS WORK IDK, IF IT DID THAT'S HOW I SEE MY BOYS IN THIS STORY
> 
> anyway, i lOVE y'all, i had a good day and felt like saying that :]
> 
> p.s. kenma not having any idea that suga's dating someone is me self-inserting, i learn people have been dating for months and i had no idea on the daily


	11. kuroo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> gossip shhh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i didn't post earlier this week because i was swamped with tests, but it is now spring break and i will be binge writing to relax!
> 
> i will post twice this weekend (once today and another tomorrow) so that you can get the amount of chapters you'd normally have and we can officially move full throttle into romance and constant interaction after these two slightly uneventful chapters

Daichi stood on the opposite end of the net from Kuroo, his knees bent into a crouch as his eyes remained locked onto the ball. Bokuto ran beside him, jumping into the air in a series of loud shouts as Atsumu’s gaze flicked between teammates, debating setting to him.

They’d split the twins up, Osamu hovering at Kuroo’s side, and the air was warm with the buzz of exercise and pent up tension. Atsumu’s hands slapped the ball loudly as he set it up and Kuroo watched it arc behind him toward Hinata, running to jump and block its path. Iwaizumi shot up beside him and the ball hit the ground on the opposite side. Atsumu groaned.

Kuroo had invited his siblings to play a few rounds of volleyball with his coworkers, which had ultimately resulted in a lot more rounds of volleyball than he’d previously imagined any of them up for, but Kuroo was thankful.

Bokuto had been in one of his moods that morning.

There was something about his ability to burn so bright, bringing anyone around him to a point of utter excitement and joy, that caused him to crash harder than most others. They weren’t quite depressive episodes, and they didn’t do much to debilitate him other than plunge him into deep set, dejected emotions, but the drop from passionate and confident to fragile was dramatic.

And painful to watch.

He looked better then, his eyes flashing in earnest as he pushed forward through the game, but Kuroo still felt his muscles strung incredibly tight when he thought of Osamu’s phone call to him that morning when Bokuto had refused to get out of bed.

He didn’t know what spurred it on.

When he’d first begun to experience the episodes, a major loss in a high school volleyball tournament having wracked him with guilt for days on end, it had been chalked up to his ADHD, the emotional swings a symptom seen often. But Kuroo knew that sometimes Bokuto just got tired: tired of being the big brother, tired of being so emotionally aware, tired of being so energetic.

Sometimes he needed someone else to keep him going and bring him back up.

Generally it was flying for him, when the brothers had still been in high school Kuroo would bring Bokuto to the flight school when he was upset, the pair sitting outside the gates and watching the various planes take off from the runway. He knew Bokuto loved his job, he loved the feeling of high places, and his mood dropped less often.

But he supposed it couldn’t be that way constantly.

Bokuto cut a straight shot down the court, the air skimming past on Kuroo’s arm and he grit his teeth at the loss. Bokuto laughed, shouted as he high-fived Atsumu and Hinata.

Iwaizumi and Daichi were both detectives in Kuroo’s unit, whereas Hinata worked as the receptionist for their offices, his desk constantly littered with yellow and orange pens and odd sunshine figurines and toys. It was a mess of files and junk, but he answered the calls cheerfully and somehow managed to know where everything was in the mess.

“Let’s take it back,” Suga shouted, clapping his hands painfully onto Kuroo and Iwaizumi’s backs. He grinned wildly at Daichi over the net.

Kuroo had been introduced to the teacher when the pair had initially begun dating, running into them while they were out for dinner and he’d run to buy snacks for the twins. They’d been together for a year by then, and Suga had long since begun joining their odd workplace games as a setter. He stuck his tongue out immaturely at the opposing side and Kuroo snorted.

“They’re just lucky,” Kuroo said, grinning as he cracked his knuckles.

Kuroo’s wrists burned red by the time the sun had begun to lower in the sky, stinging with pinpricks from the slap of the hard volleyball across them. He rubbed them with the tips of his fingers, wincing at the sore fleshing despite the satisfaction that settled deep his throat at the feel of exhausting himself in a game. It only grew when Bokuto rushed to his side with a vibrant smile and rambunctious laugh.

“We’re going to all go to dinner, you in? You can pay since you lost!” Bokuto said, smacking Kuroo on the back repeatedly until he let out a dry wheeze.

“I’ll come, just remember you have the boys and they need to go to bed before ten thirty or Mom will be pissed again,” Kuroo replied, sipping from his water bottle and shoving his things into his bag. He pulled on his jacket at the thought of the city night air.

“That’s your own fault for telling her when I put them to bed the other day,” he grumbled, smacking Kuroo on the chest once more. He traded his volleyball shoes for running ones, a hand clasped on Kuroo’s shoulder as he tugged them on. “But yeah, they’ve been reminding me.”

“As they should,” Kuroo said, fist bumping Osamu as he approached them. Hinata was running around with Atsumu clinging to his back, the pairs’ laughter rebounding off the walls of the gymnasium. Suga and Daichi were huddled together, pointing at their phone screens as they searched for someplace to eat, and Iwaizumi was approaching them, his own phone pulled up to some restaurant’s website.

Kuroo smiled, twisting Osamu’s gray hair between his fingers. It felt comfortable and familiar, like, despite their differing ages and jobs, they were a team. He hoisted the boy onto his hip, to which he began thrashing around, complaining about being too old for that, and headed for the door.

He called over his shoulder, “Let’s just find something on the way, idiots,” and pulled Osamu into the chilled night air. Bokuto followed on their heels, the echoing cries of offense from Hinata and Atsumu trailing after them out of the mosquito netting.

The clouds were closing in above them, the stars obscured by their dark mass, and Kuroo frowned as he tilted his head back to glare up into the dark night.

“It looks like that storm is finally settling in,” Suga said when he stepped out of the gym and down the stairs, his own gaze averted to the dark clouds. “They’ve been calling for it for over two weeks.”

“The weather app says we still have a few hours before the rain starts,” Iwaizumi said, slipping his phone back into his pocket. “Do you still want to go for food?”

Osamu and Atsumu nodded, shuffling in excitement at the thought of eating out. Iwaizumi grabbed Atsumu’s hand when Hinata dropped him to stand on his own legs, the three walking down further ahead on the pavement than the rest. Suga and Daichi moved forward, Osamu struggled to get down and follow after them, and Kuroo turned to Bokuto. He slapped him on the back.

“You doing alright?” he asked, grinning widely but furrowing his eyebrows empathetically.

“Yeah…” Bokuto said, his mouth twisting with a grimace. “Sorry about that, I’m probably not the best person to be taking care of children.”

Kuroo chuckled, clicking his tongue as they walked on. His eyes remained turned to the sky, watching the clouds move in. “That’s not true—you’re the best! Where’s your confidence?”

“You’re right!” Bokuto laughed, “It’s—what’s that word? Imprudent?” Kuroo shrugged in response, amusement written clear on his face. “It’s imprudent to give up on myself!”

Kuroo shrugged again, laughing. “I guess that works,” he said. “Big word Koutarou has come out to play.”

Bokuto laughed softer then, the skin by his eyes crinkling. They walked in silence for a little while, glancing at the forest and buildings they passed as they followed the others, before Bokuto spoke up, his voice low in the quietude of the afternoon.

“Mom wants me to try doing the swim lessons with the twins when I have time.”

Kuroo startled slightly, slanting his gaze to study his brother. “Will you?”

“I don’t know,” he replied, his voice coming out a whine in the night. “I don’t want to but… I should, you all have been asking me to for so long.” Kuroo didn’t reply for a while, simply tipped his head back, the strands of hair that hung over his eyes sliding away across his skin with the push of gravity. When Bokuto didn’t continue for a while, he spoke.

“We can’t force you, and we don’t want to,” he said softly, watching Atsumu and Osamu rush around each other on the sidewalk, weaving through Daichi and Suga’s feet with boisterous laughter as the pair reached down to grab them. “It’s like how the twins still get scared of the dark because of what happened to them—we’ve all been saved by something, and yeah, we owe a lot to Mom and Dad for that, but they’re not gonna force you to try and get over it if it’s ultimately more harmful.”

Bokuto was silent for a while, the sound of his shoes hitting the ground in tandem resonating around them. Kuroo continued. “That day at the adoption center was traumatic,” he said, nudging Bokuto with his elbow. “The only reason I stopped stealing and became a cop back then was because Mom and Dad adopted us, I think they’ll be the ones that can help you with the water.

“I think we should just be glad we can be there to help Atsumu and Osamu get over what they went through.”

Bokuto nodded rapidly when he mentioned the twins, the younger pair the one thing they could agree as most important to them. He let out a quiet laugh when Atsumu punched the inside of Daichi’s knee, the man’s leg buckling. “Their teacher is nice,” he said. “I wouldn’t mind learning with him, I just need to get used to it.”

Kuroo shivered at the memory of Bokuto in the water, squeezing his eyes shut at the same time he squeezed his brother’s shoulder in comfort. He knew how hard it was for him.

They stopped at a small noodle house, the large group settling for two tables in the back. Daichi and Iwaizumi pushed them together for the waitress, the restaurant’s occupants cringing at the screech of its wooden legs over the hard floors. The place mats were sticky with antiseptic and Atsumu and Osamu kept flicking the crayons they gave out to kids under twelve across the table until they’d roll off onto the floor, but it was nice.

The last time Kuroo had eaten out with his coworkers, other than trips for drinks at the bar beside the station after work, had been months ago. He’d had to leave early then, picking up the twins for the weekend, and hadn’t gotten to spend an awful lot of time relaxing.

He still spent time with his friends, that was what the volleyball games were devoted for, but there was something different about settling in for a meal with the ones he loved. Daichi called him a sap when he said that and Iwaizumi scowled. Bokuto’s ever-present grin grew wider and Suga’s expression grew fond, like he still felt he hadn’t been accepted until Kuroo said that. Hinata giggled and ruffled Osamu’s hair, saying he “only ever came for them”.

The others all doted on the twins, they visited the agency quite often with Kuroo, and sometimes when things were busy and Kuroo had to have them over for the weekend they’d offer to watch them instead. They’d saved his life a few times—in the literal and metaphorical sense—and he knew the twins were happy with it as well.

Atsumu drew a sun and handed it to Hinata, grinning brightly when the youngest of the adults folded it and slipped it into the pocket of his bag. Osamu drew a gremlin and told Kuroo it was Atsumu.

That earned a laugh from Iwaizumi.

“Kuroo-san,” Suga said, leaning across the table to see the man, “Will you ever be taking the kids to swim? Not to bring work into this but… it’d be good to know whether or not Akaashi-kun will need to know another face.”

Kuroo hummed, taking a sip of his beer. “Probably at some point, when Bokuto doesn’t do it, it'll most likely be one of our parents, but I might eventually.”

“Akaashi-sensei ain’t gonna like ya,” Atsumu said, sticking his tongue out in Kuroo’s direction.

“Why would you say that?” Kuroo asked, laughter plaguing his words.

“Yer too silly,” Osamu supplied, still intent on perfecting his drawing of Atsumu. “Akaashi-sensei doesn’t like it when ya aren’t serious about anythin’. That’s why ‘s funny when he get a’ mad at “Tsumu.”

Kuroo blinked. “And you’re saying he won’t like me, but he’ll like Koutarou?”

Atsumu blinked blankly, nodding. “Obviously, Nii-chan is nice.”

“And obviously, you’re not,” Daichi said, snickering behind the glass of his drink. Suga slapped his bicep, leaning over again to look at Kuroo.

“I’m sure he’ll like you just fine, Akaashi-kun is nice. The boys are just teasing you,” he mended, smiling sweetly. The waitress arrived back with food and Kuroo distracted himself with his noodles.

He’d ordered shoyu ramen, and he picked the boiled egg apart with his chopsticks, the golden broth staining it like tea, and he pulled it and some noodles to his mouth alongside a piece of nori. It was hot, burning his tongue numb, but the flavor of the soy sauce mixed with the chicken broth was comforting on his taste buds.

Hinata was nose deep in a bowl of tonkotsu, his cheeks full with noodles and pork, whereas Iwaizumi was eating slowly, only a small bunch of noodles held on his chopsticks.

“Did you have fun with Akaashi-sensei last Sunday, though?” Suga asked the twins, who bickered over their shared larger serving of noodles, two separate bowls placed before them to split the meal. Atsumu’s head shot up and he grinned wide, nodding.

“Nii-chan drove ‘im and us to store after ‘cause he fell asleep! Akaashi-sensei told Nii-chan he should drink chamomile tea!” Atsumu blabbered, his mouth half full with mushed noodles. Hinata scolded him lightly, his own mouth chock-full of half-chewed food as he spoke.

“Akaashi-kun got a ride with you?” Suga asked Bokuto, furrowing his brows in confusion.

“I felt bad!” Bokuto said defensively, his hands thrust forward protectively. “I made him teach them longer ‘cause I was sleeping.”

Suga shook his head. “I’m just a bit surprised, is all. Akaashi-kun is a little too introverted to accept a ride from someone.”

“Akaashi-sensei was short on time,” Bokuto said, his eyes wide and lips pouted slightly.

“How come you didn’t tell me?” Kuroo asked. He tilted his head in curiosity, picking up another bite of steaming noodles as he waited for Bokuto to answer.

“Didn’t need to, he left us after we got there.”

Kuroo blanched. “You brought the poor guy to buy groceries and then left him to walk with the bags home?”

Bokuto’s pout grew more prominent. “I told you he left, I didn’t mean to be rude,” he whined, his feet kicking under the table like a child. Kuroo flicked his forehead, rolling his eyes with a huffed laugh. Bokuto rubbed the afflicted spot, turning back to the food in his bowl.

“I’m sure Akaashi-kun preferred it that way, he lives nearby if you went to the one by the beach. Him and Kenma-kun generally walk everywhere.”

Kuroo paused, rolling the name over in his head. He squinted at the patterns on the wood table, running his finger along its lines. “Kenma-san?” he asked. “Is that a friend of yours?”

“He and Akaashi-kun are roommates, they’ve known each other longer than I’ve known them, but yeah, he’s a friend of mine.” Suga shrugged, lifting the bowl to sip the broth.

Kuroo guessed he must have mentioned him before, pursing his lips in an effort to push away the odd familiarity the name sparked. He glanced out the window, watching the sky grow darker still, obscured almost entirely by the mass of storm clouds. It was an ominous sight, the sky having grown dark significantly earlier than usual.

“If we’re going to outrun the storm, we need to leave fairly soon,” Kuroo said, and Iwaizumi nodded alongside him, pulling up his wrist to glance at his watch face.

“It’s supposed to start in around forty-five minutes.”

Hinata frowned, his forehead creasing. He fisted a hand in his red hair as he turned his head to stare out the window just as Kuroo did. He tapped his fingernails on the tabletop agitatedly.

“I never did like the rain.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i unintentionally foreshadowed something bad... but... don't worry too much nothing actually happens here 
> 
> i'd just like to say thank you so so much for your kind words and all the kudos, it's been a funky week (finished 138 of aot and cried for like two days straight and neglected writing) and i'm very grateful to everyone taking the time to read this!
> 
> love y'all, today my schedule consists of writing the kuroken kiss that happens like ten chapters from where you are currently reading and i am quite excited...
> 
> (a forewarning: i am incredibly ahead of the posting schedule, so if i finish writing the story, i might start dumping a lot of chapters out per week...)


End file.
